


Coming to Terms

by SpongieK



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, lunchables, shitty ice breakers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2018-10-23 19:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpongieK/pseuds/SpongieK
Summary: Ferelden University is considered the most prestigious place of study on the continent, no matter how badly its student body tries to tarnish that reputation.Focus on Solavellan and FenHawke, with other pairings sprinkled in.





	1. Prologue - The Introductory Paragraph

**Author's Note:**

> no joke, I started writing this AU about four years ago and it has been sitting in my drive and growing ever since. I might as well post it.  
> The first few chapters will be in a strict chronological narrative with a couple narrators, but that's going to change as it gets going. There'll be a focus on FenHawke and Solavellan but I have plans for other pairings as well. I'm going for a kind of weird hybrid of modernity and lore and hoping it doesn't come across as a horrible mess :)  
> as always I suck at titles, might change it later...For now, enjoy!

**Friday Evening**  
**Outside Ferelden University’s Stadium**

 

Hawke and Isabela weren’t the first ones in line, but they didn’t bend around the corner of the stadium like the poor suckers behind them. The Dragons weren’t a particularly amazing team (although Cullen was always quick to remind her that they placed fairly well in their division), but tickets still sold quickly, especially for the first of the season. Hawke reminded herself to thank Asharah for her connections in getting tickets early on. As such, she did not feel the need to complain about her tardiness.

Besides, it wasn't like Hawke could blame her for any fatigue she might have. Lacrosse practice had only been a couple hours before and her body wanted nothing more than to be back home splayed out unsanctimoniously on the couch in a bathrobe and not caring whether Gamlen or Carver happened to pass her by. But she’d made a promise to herself before the year began that she would make an effort to see at least one game, since it felt like one of those college things you should do. It just worked out that the first game of the season fell right before her own team threw her weekends into chaos.

  
Hawke watched Isabela smack a mosquito away from her arm and prepared for another complaint to leave her lips. Isabela was never one to disappoint, “Fuck, can’t we be inside now?”

“You do realize that being ‘inside’ still technically means ‘outside,’ that’s kind of how football stadiums work,” Hawke smirked.

“Right but by then we’ll be surrounded by the less-important people who can act as my shield,” Isabela rolled her eyes as if it were obvious fact.

“Well, regardless, we can’t go inside until Fenris and Asharah show up so for now you have to deal,” Hawke reminded.

Isabela gave a small smile, “How the hell is it I can’t get Fenris to come down to the dining hall with me half the time, but you manage to get him to thirst-follow you anywhere.”

“It helps when you mention that Anders can’t go. You’re just a god-awful saleswoman,” Hawke shrugged, ignoring Isabela’s insinuations, “You didn’t get Aveline to come either, and you have the opportunity to bother her where she sleeps.”

“Okay, but, if Man-hands was literally dying of poison and I suggested perhaps taking the antidote, she’d tell me to shut up with her dying breath,” Isabela pouted, “Besides, she wasn’t even in the room when I came back, I think she’s out.”

Hawke chewed on her lip in thought. Aveline had been one of her oldest friends next to Varric, living in the same neighborhood since middle school will do that. However, when the acceptance letters came in, Aveline had decided to live on campus despite living only a half hour away. Hawke silently understood her desire to be as far away from her father as possible, but she couldn’t help the small loneliness she felt when she drove to school everyday with one less occupant between her and Bethany.  
It should feel weird to be hanging out with Aveline’s roommate and not Aveline herself. Or at least, it would have if Isabela and her hadn’t spent the whole of freshman year bonding over who could make Aveline’s ears the reddest. Besides, whenever Aveline got inevitably sexiled she’d always found a home in the Hawkes’ basement.

“Is that your lacrosse friend?” Isabela asked, breaking Hawke’s train of thought. She turned around to see a small, lanky, doe-eyed freshman waving as she walked over. “She’s cute,” Isabella purred quietly.

“Down, girl,” Hawke muttered through a smile.

“Hey, I’m not late am I?” Asharah asked politely.

“Oh not to worry sweetie, this line moves as quickly as dial-up,” Isabela smirked.

“This is my friend Isabela,” Hawke sighed, “Isabela, my teammate and right now favorite friend, Asharah.”

“Hey,” Asharah smiled as she shook Isabela’s hand.

Despite only being at the school a little over a month, Asharah had grown on Hawke. She didn’t fit very well with the other freshman girls on their team, she had a sort of maturity to her that Hawke found endearing. Asharah’s elvish figure made her appear small and dainty. But Hawke had seen the girl red-faced and arguing with the captain at least thrice now. She found it immeasurably amusing when the girl got overly competitive during skirmishes.

“So, do you guys normally go to the games?” Asharah asked.

Isabela snorted, “Hell no, the only reason I’m here and not pre-gaming my own way is because of that fine quarterback we got.”

“You mean Alistair?” Asharah grinned.

“That’s the one,” Isabela chirped, “He’s a senior I think, so this is my last chance to see him all sweaty and grabbing ass.”

Hawke felt a buzz in her pocket and flipped out her phone.

-6:02 PM Fenris  
Here, where are you?

Before she had even finished reading she could feel him behind her.

“Your phone service leaves much to be desired,” he grumbled.

It had been long since Hawke could pretend to be disappointed in Fenris’ dreary wardrobe, but she found the black beanie in this heat questionable. She wasn’t sure if his dress habits were meant to leave him as unnoticeable as possible, which would be incredibly difficult given the rest of his appearance. His pale hair was enough to make others’ look twice, but the tattoos that twisted over his body and even curled under his chin made him an oddity on campus. Fenris’ green eyes stared hard, but not in menace, at Hawke before flitting to their unintroduced companion. Hawke quickly acquainted Fenris and Asharah and the two elves shook hands.  
Hawke was glad that she wouldn’t have to suffer through the big 3 (“where are you from?” “what are you studying?” “what year are you?”) with Fenris because he simply didn’t care.

“Fen do you even know the first thing about football?” Isabela teased.

“The red ones are ours and they run to the right side of the field. What more do I need?” Fenris stated promptly, “I seriously doubt your knowledge eclipses my own.”

“For your information my parents and I follow the Rivaini Reavers pretty religiously,” Isabela flipped her hair back in mock offense.

“Then you’ll just have to tell me what’s happening in lurid detail,” he drawled, eliciting a giggle from Asharah. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry,” she smiled, “I just don’t usually hear someone talk like that.”  
Isabela and Hawke exchanged a look. They both remembered how strange it was hanging out with Fenris in the first few weeks of meeting him. Nobody was sure if he was secretly making fun of them all with his formalities. Soon, they all silently agreed that it was just part of his charm, and perhaps his linguistic studies were deserving of some blame.  
Fenris scowled and that made Hawke snicker. She liked the way he talked, it was endearing, but she knew expressing as much would only earn more disdain on his part. That was just the sort of friendship they had. Neither felt the need to verbally announce their affection. This was more for Fenris’ comfort than for Hawke’s. Fenris’ friendship was a slow burn of trust and even Hawke didn’t know his reasoning. Any attempt at pressing the information out of him would only make him slip away.  
Hawke suspected that upon first meeting Fenris, he hated her. His eternal scowl and broodiness did him no favors. To eventually discover that he found joy in her presence admittedly made her feel special.

“What made you so late?” Hawke asked to prevent any further interrogation of her young, uninitiated friend.

“I was...discussing things with my guidance counselor,” he stopped his sentence short. Hawke quirked an eyebrow but Isabela spoke first.

“Your classes get all screwy?” she questioned.

Fenris shook his head, “No, I just needed something for a course.”

Hawke knew he was lying. Fenris often spoke ill of the counselors in his department. Idiots and incompetents all of them, if he was to be believed. The only times he ever seemed to rely on them were for signatures and anything more complex than that was deemed too much trouble for them.

“Are we moving?” Asharah leaned to the side to look around the front. Indeed, shuffling had started near the entrance and only a few moments later the group made progress. Talk quickly shifted excitedly to the game and how many asses would get smacked. Hawke put aside her suspicion for the time being.

 

**Harrowmont Dining Hall**

“I shouldn’t be here,” Anders groaned, staring in a particularly macabre manner at his cheeseburger, “I should have taken this to my room.”

“Your life is already sad enough as it is,” Dorian waved his hand.

“And hanging out with a bunch of freshman is supposed to make it better?” Anders quipped back, although against Dorian he was more of a punching bag than an equal.

“Are you meant to take offense to that?” Solas mused quietly into his coffee mug.

“Well, since what you’re struggling with is an entry-level freshman class I see no reason why you shouldn’t be inspired by our presence,” Dorian grinned.

“Inspire...we’re here to help,” Cole mumbled encouragingly. Dorian almost felt bad about his roommate’s sincerity.

He’d interrupted the kid’s (“kid,” even though Dorian was pretty sure Cole was older than him) supposedly tenth Overwatch game to go a few doors down the stairs to bother Anders. To his surprise he was not greeted by Fenris’ scowl and a pithy comment, but Solas’ contemplative stare.

  
In the short time since, Solas had proven himself intelligent, stoic, and quite surprisingly snarky. Dorian might just like him. However, Dorian couldn’t help but shake the oddness of having a grad student among them. He wasn’t intimidated of course, Dorian hardly ever was. But it was like having a real adult there. That was no fun.

Anders groan groaned and banged his head on the table.

“No need for dramatics, you only have a few pages left,” Solas leaned back in his chair.

“If you’re so confident why don’t you write it,” Anders drawled, cheek flat against the table.

“I took no pleasure in doing mine, I see no reason to repeat the experience,” Solas shrugged.

“You’ve left me to suffer,” Anders’ mockingly sobbed.

“Not true, I came to bear witness to it.”

Before any more torture could be inflicted upon their upperclassman friend, a severe but familiar looking peer walked into the hall. She would’ve walked past them if Dorian hadn’t leaned back in his chair and waved her over.

Cassandra leaned over the table, “Asharah isn’t coming so don’t hold your breath.”

“My dear, I’m offended that you think I would be using you for your roommate...or that I wouldn’t know her plans before you,” Dorian smirked. She rolled her eyes and snorted. Dorian continued, “Come, join us in the shadow of Ash’s absence.”

Cassandra looked over the occupants of the table and shrugged, Dorian inferred this as a “sure, whatever” as she left to go get food. 

“Asharah...Lavellan?” Solas asked tentatively.

“Well, well, my little Dalish Darling is certainly the social butterfly. Although I am hurt that she’s talking to people without me,” Dorian mused. He looked Solas up and down, had Ash mentioned him before? He couldn’t recall.

“We share a class together. She’s,” he paused, “Interesting. I don’t really find myself having much in common with random people, better to keep to those who study similar things,” Solas reasoned. 

Cole nodded, “It’s hard when you don’t know what they expect.”

“Ah, it’s a wonder you two shut-ins haven’t found each other prior to this moment...of course that would require movement,” Dorian smirked.

Anders finally got his head off of the table, “Cole, are you a freshman? You don’t seem...I don’t know, doe-eyed enough.”

“I...I transferred,” Cole swallowed, “It’s pretty much my first year though...I didn’t do well at my last...try.”

Cassandra sat down across from Cole and next to Solas. Dorian chuckled at what was on her plate, “Isn’t it a little too soon to regress to childhood?”

“Never,” Anders shook his head. Cassandra pointedly took a bite out of her PB&J.

Cole tilted his head curiously, “That tastes good?”

“What?” Cassandra asked after she swallowed.

“What a strange mixture,” Cole mused.

A full few moments of silence held.

Anders was the one to eventually break it, “Cole...have you never had peanut butter and jelly?”

“No,” Cole responded as if some huge part of him wasn’t missing.

Cassandra’s eyes widened, “You can’t be serious.”

“Can that happen?” Dorian turned to look at his roommate. He knew Cole was off. An odd boy who’d had little to leave in their shared space besides the heaviest laptop Dorian had ever seen, a large sunhat, and bedsheets. Yet Dorian had never minded all that much, but now it was deeper than just some oddities. Cole was broken.

Dorian locked eyes with Solas and somehow they both knew they had the same idea. They leapt from their chairs and hurried over to the bread bar. As soon as they reached it, they realized that really this task only required one person, but neither of them wanted to return shamefully to the table empty handed. So both took one slice, Dorian with Jelly and Solas with peanut butter, and completed the task with much more complexity than was required in twice the amount of time. Thankfully, this man had proven to be much less of an adult than Dorian had initially thought.

“Eat it,” Dorian shoved the plate in front of Cole. 

He blinked at it a few times, “Is this important?”

“Critically,” Solas insisted.

Cassandra didn’t even have any scorning words for their behavior. She was intently watching. Anders had an odd half-smile on his face as he watched Cole pick up the sandwich and take a bite. At first nothing, and then he blinked and his eyes opened as if they had just seen the Maker for the first time. 

He swallowed, “This is...this is good!”

Dorian swore there was a collective sigh from the rest of the table. 

“Honestly, what kind of sadists were your parents that you never had PB&J?” Anders sighed.

Cole seemed to droop a bit under his flat cap, “It just never occurred.”

Dorian sensed there was something there that didn’t need to be overturned just yet, “What about lunchables?”

Cole tilted his head towards him.

Anders’ eyes widened and his expression of intrigue showed that his paper would indeed not be getting done any time soon.

Cole swallowed, “A what?”


	2. Prologue - The Thesis Statement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar faces and new acquaintances start to intermingle.

**Fereldan University Football Stadium, a.k.a. The Dragon Pit**

“Okay that was the other team’s touchdown right? Because I don’t hear anyone else on our side cheering,” Isabela leaned over to Hawke and nearly shouted in her ear, yet through the din of the stadium it barely made a difference.

“Yeah,” Hawke responded with a nod as well in case she couldn’t be heard. The opposing team’s band had started blaring their school’s song with all the confidence of a group half-flat. That, of course, had led to jeering from their side. Fenris pursed his lips, but Hawke couldn’t tell if he was displeased with the plays or the overall noise. The Home team's side was a mob made of gold and red swatches. Clearly this was not a place for the casual fans. They stood among people with their faces painted and signs depicting a violently slaughtered Mabari, the opposing team's Mascot. It was just as hot as it had been in the line, but there was an awning that at least kept them in the shade. 

“I don’t see Alistair,” Isabela pouted.

“They’ll probably switch him out later,” Asharah speculated, “They’re using their second-string quarterback right now.”

“I’m impressed, I didn’t think you to be a super-jock,” Hawke joked.

Asharah shrugged, “I know enough.”

“Well this quarterback sucks, boo!”

“Hey! Be nice to good ol’ Rutherford, he’ll probably write us up for a lack of school spirit,” Hawke playfully chided.

“Rutherford? Cullen Rutherford?” Asharah snorted. Hawke gave her a look before she completed the thought, “He’s my RA.”

“No kidding,” Hawke smirked. Campus always seemed to get smaller and smaller. She’d almost forgotten that Cullen had taken on the position of herding some green freshmen around and trying to get them involved in his floor events. Hawke would have to check out his room, surely to be bigger than any of her other friends on campus. And hopefully locking him out wouldn’t be terribly hard.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing. He's not going to catch you doing shit if he catches the ball like that," Isabela groaned.

"What a staggering logic you have," Fenris muttered.

“Is...is that…?” Isabela craned her neck for a moment as her question trailed off, Hawke tried to follow her gaze when suddenly she shouted and waved, “Varric!”

The stout dwarf with the impressive chest hair elegantly turned his head towards the girls with a crooked smile. It took him twice as long to climb the steps built for people twice his size. Notoriously, the Fereldan University was slow to accommodate their non-human student body. But was happy to take their tuition all the same. Varric carefully stepped over to them among the horde, “Might a gentleman amuse himself with the company of some fine ladies?”

“He may if he could find some ladies,” Fenris dryly quipped. Isabella gave him a friendly smack.

“Oh, Broody, didn’t see you over there behind Hawke’s massive lacrosse arms,” Varric gave a small wave.

“Keep that talk up and you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of my stick,” Hawke smirked.

Varric glanced over to Asharah, who was politely smiling despite clearly not knowing this strange new person.

Before Hawke could introduce them, though, Varric gently offered his hand to her, “You must be Asharah, right? You’re on Cullen’s floor I believe.”

Asharah blinked, “Y-Yes,” she remembered herself as she shook his hand, “Nice to meet you, Varric, is it? I think I’ve heard Cassandra complain about you.”

Varric gave a short bark of laughter, “I take great pride in that being my legacy.”

“You know everybody!” Isabela rolled her eyes.

Varric shrugged as he took the empty seat beside Asharah, “It’s my job to know.”

“I thought it was your job to write sardonic diatribal pieces that no one will read,” Fenris folded his arms, Hawke supposed he could be irritated, but with him you could never really tell when he wasn’t. If anything, the fact he was talking was a positive indicator.

“That’s one way very apt way to describe the Opinions section,” Varric chuckled, “You’d be a great addition with language like that.”

“Pass,” Fenris quickly dismissed him with a wave.

A giant roar suddenly erupted among the crowd. Fenris flinched at the noise and sunk deeper into his seat. Evidently, Cullen had just completed a pass for an alleged first down. That sounded good.

“How did you manage to get tickets for this, anyway, Varric? There’s no way you camped out for them,” Isabella asked.

Varric pulled out his University Newspaper badge from under his shirt, “Convinced Cassandra that I was working out a very in-depth article about the conditions of our football team.”

Asharah smirked through a groan, “Oh dear, I’m sure I’m going to get an earful about that when she finds out.”

“If, my young friend, ‘if’ is the operative word,” Varric pointed out.

Asharah rolled her eyes, “Ok, but she always does. Let’s just say there’s no way I’m risking hiding beer in our dorm again.”

“Yes, yes, quite the Seeker our great Cassandra is,” Varric sighed.

For the rest of the first quarter Asharah and Varric chatted away. This only slightly surprised Hawke, Varric just had that effect on people. Well, people who could put up with his bullshit that is. He could find a way to make anyone feel at ease. Which was good, because Hawke was busy trying to keep up with the game. Isabela and Hawke managed to piece together what the plays on the field meant based off of the crowd’s reactions and the ever-helpful scoreboard. Everyone was excited whenever Alistair pulled off a play, he was a favorite. Cullen wasn’t doing too shabbily either. He clearly wasn’t as amazing as Alistair, but a solid addition to the team nonetheless. Hawke would be sure to not burst Cullen’s bubble.

“Oh my god, it’s that stupid thing,” Isabella groaned. Hawke looked over to see what she was complaining about and snorted. The big fluffy Dragon mascot/terror known as Flame officially (but “Flem” by her student constituents) was currently walking up the stairs to the center of their aisle. Flame waved to the masses to make them somehow even louder. 

“Can’t we just put him down. It’s the humane thing to do,” Isabella scoffed, “So tacky.” As if to prove her point, the puffy monster started dancing in a way that was reserved for children's birthday parties.

  
Naturally, Varric stood on his chair and waved to the stuffed dragon with a cheer. Isabella scowled.

“Varric, if that thing comes over here I’m going to sneak into your dorm and steal ‘Bianca,’” Fenris growled as he rubbed his temples.

“That’s a bold claim, Broody. She’s like Mjolnir, you see? Only the worthy can wield her,” Varric chuckled. Flame the dragon saw his waving and froze. To Isabela’s delight, it turned away from them.

“Oh thank the Maker,” Isabella sighed.

"Wow, Varric, I didn't think you were that ugly," Hawke snorted.

“That wasn’t very spirited...or fun,” Varric grumbled to himself. Hawke saw the disappointment in Varric’s face dissipate as a sudden light bulb went off in his brain. She could stop whatever shenanigans he was about to enact, but frankly the game wasn’t amusing her enough. Varric hopped out of his seat and crept over to the stands that Flame was performing on. Varric had an aptitude for sneaking, and his height only benefitted him in that arena. Perhaps that was why he always seemed to know every secret there was on campus before anyone else.

“What is that little idiot doing?” Fenris groaned. Varric snuck behind Flame and climbed up the railings behind it, putting him at the perfect height for Flame’s head. The crowd in front of the dragon noticed and started pointing and shouting at Varric, but it was too late. Varric swiftly pulled off Flame’s head and tossed it into the crowd, leaving the red-headed human inside exposed.

While the masses started passing around the dragon's head like a beach ball, Hawke’s jaw dropped and for once, Isabella was silent.

Therefore, it was left to Fenris to verbally identify the masked being, “Aveline?”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Isabella’s shocked expression held the hint of a smile that she quickly covered with her hands.

  
Even Varric didn’t predict this, and thus, was unprepared for when Aveline turned around, face almost as red as her hair, and grabbed him by the collar.

 

**Skyhold Dorm, Room 904**

“You know what was scary as a kid,” Anders asked, fist stuffed inside a box of Gushers. This being one of many plunders that the four of them had raided from the Campus’ nearby grocery store. Cole and Dorian’s room now looked more like a five year old’s romper room than home to two budding adults.

“What was scary?” Cole asked from his desk chair, knees curled up to his chin and licking the Ring Pop on his finger.

“Those ads that played for Gushers,” Anders answered, pulling out a bag of them and staring, “Like, one second a kids eating these gummy things, and the next his head’s a fucking watermelon!”

“What a way to live,” Dorian mused.

“Maybe it was just temporary,” Cole proposed, "It must be nice to taste good."

“It’s just to get children to buy corn syrup,” Solas droned, flipping through one of Dorian’s magazines.

Cassandra scoffed, “You must get invited to a lot of parties, Solas.”

“I forgot how much of an expert you were on that front,” Solas snided. Dorian snorted when a buzz went off in his pocket. Rather than listening to the two of them squabble, he checked his text.

-11:12 PM Ash  
Hawke’s having an after-game fling in her basement  
U wanna come?

Dorian smirked, “Looks like it’s your chance to prove him wrong, Cass.”

Cassandra was about to ask something when her own phone vibrated. Then Anders’. 

“It appears we’re being excluded, Cole,” Solas said.

“I can ask Asharah if you can come, though it’s not her house,” Dorian shrugged.

Solas tilted his head in interest, "If it isn't any trouble."

"Fear not, I have a gift for getting Ash to do what I want," he grinned.

“Are you dating?” Anders asked, cluelessly.

Solas chuckled behind his hand, “Was that a serious question?”

Dorian frowned in mock offense, “Am I not convincing as the local alpha stud? I’m sure I could make a pair of panties drop or two...if I wanted.”

Cassandra scoffed, getting off of the bed, “I’m calling a Lyft, do you want to split it?”

Dorian nodded, also standing up, “Well, it certainly was fun all of you, but I really can’t spend my budding college career bloated on the remains of the nineties.”

Anders groaned hopelessly, “You’re all abandoning me to my fate.”

Dorian watched his roommate’s eyes softened, “I’ll help.”

Anders looked up at him with big eyes, “Do you know anything about the Glory Age and its effect on the Dales?”

“I have heard those words before,” Cole responded proudly. Anders groaned.

“Well, it sounds like you’re both very busy, so we shan’t trouble you any further,” Dorian tapped his fingers on his phone effortlessly and heard the pleasing little bubble sound his text made.

-11:14 PM Dorian  
This Solas fellow seems to know you  
He’s fun to tease  
Can this egg come?

Dorian added an egg emoji for flourish. It was rare that any of his texts didn’t have some form of playful picture at the end. He received a response surprisingly quickly.

-11:14 PM Ash  
Wow, small school :O  
Hawke says it’s k

-11:15 PM Ash  
Lol you think he looks like an egg too?  
Now I don’t feel so bad

He smiled at his phone. “Well, Solas, if you wish to spend your evening with a bunch of children, you may.”

“You’ll need supervision after all,” Solas shrugged as if he were doing them a favor. Dorian might like this fellow. Of course, he was much too old for his tastes--not that he knew his actual age. Plus, a shaved head so early? Maker preserve him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it clear how self indulgent this fic is yet?


	3. Prologue - The Expository Paragraphs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The major players gather at the Hawke residence for some good old fashioned debauchery. In the midst of it all, a personal secret is accidentally loosed.

**The Hawke Residence**  


The basement steps were cool on Hawke’s feet even through her socks. She flicked on the light so everyone that followed wouldn’t crash into her. Hawke had spent so much of her childhood and adolescence here. Between playing with Carver and Bethany to hanging out and getting high with Varric while Aveline scowled, it was like her own personal den. It was spacious enough for the small (well, small-ish) gathering they were having, and enough seating with a couch and some beanbags. A tv sat on the back wall with an old PS2 plugged in. The cooler in the corner, though, was going to be everyone’s main concern.

“Alright kiddos,” she half-whispered over her shoulder, “We have to keep the noise to a reasonable level so Gamlen doesn’t kick us all out.”

“As if that worked last time,” Isabela giggled.

Hawke had offered to drive as much people as she could in her car, to make sure Varric was as far from Aveline as possible. Varric promptly plopped onto the red beanbag he had long ago deemed as his.

“Rivaini, be a dear and get me a beer on your way over,” he purred.

“I’m not a bloody waitress unless you’re tipping, buddy,” she rolled her eyes. Fenris reached the cooler first and found one of the cheap bottles of wine Hawke had managed to get a hold of. He looked at her with his brows slightly raised. She smirked back, she knew his preferred drink. Hopefully he would be gracious enough to drink it all, because no one else was going to.

“Oy, Broody,” Varric started.

“No,” Fenris growled and poured himself a drink into his plastic cup. Hawke rolled her eyes and walked to the cooler to get two beers.

“You really warm my heart, Hawke” Varric grinned.

“You’re just going to need it before Aveline gets here,” Hawke responded, the grin vanished. Asharah pulled a bean bag across from Varric, taking a good look at the room.

“Will Beth or Carver be joining us?” Isabela asked.

Hawke barked in laughter, “If you think Carver’s going to come hang out with me willingly you must have caught something at that game. Beth might, not sure,” at the reminder Hawke checked her phone, “Aaaaand no response from Merrill. As per usual.”

Hawke took a seat between Isabela and Fenris on the couch and tossed Varric his beer. She felt nostalgic, which was weird because she’d only met Fenris and Isabela a year ago. Freshman year wasn’t exactly a far off memory. But still, part of her wished it was only going to be them for the rest of the evening. Then again, Asharah was here, so it wasn’t a perfect re-creation. Perhaps if Anders was sulking somewhere it would really set the mood.

They heard the rumble of cars being parked outside the Hawke driveway. The color drained from Varric’s face.

“Judgment day for the sinners,” Isabela toasted with her beer. Hawke lifted herself from the couch reluctantly. She had to at least appear like a good host. She walked back up to the front door and opened it before the visitor could even ring the doorbell. To her surprise it wasn’t Aveline, but Cullen that stood there. He looked tired as hell, but had managed to get a shower somehow between the game and now, so he was semi-presentable.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to actually show up,” Hawke smirked, “I thought the team would be throwing much more thrilling parties than this one.”

Cullen groaned as Hawke let him in, “They were. I honestly don’t know how they have the stamina. I just want to hang out for a bit, not spend the whole night getting into keg stands with the Chargers Frat.”

Hawke led him down to the basement, “I’ve never been invited to that. You’re really climbing up the social ladder there, Cullen.”

Cullen looked like he was about to respond when he saw Asharah sitting there, chatting happily with Isabela. He froze all of a sudden. When the young elf finally looked towards the newcomer, she looked equally surprised. She shifted her eyes embarassedly.

 _Oh,_ Hawke thought too late, _RA. Awkward._

With a sheepish smile she said, “H-Hi there Cullen,” she looked around at all the booze and threw her hands up defensively, “I haven’t had any I swear!”

Cullen coughed and shook himself from shock, “No it’s fine,” he quickly added, “I’m not encouraging this obviously! It is illegal, but it’s not like...I can...write you up...officially.”

“Quite the stirring speech Commander,” Varric smirked. Cullen only blushed and scratched the back of his neck.

“Perhaps I should go,” Cullen offered. Asharah obviously felt bad, she hadn’t meant to intrude on his off-time. He was still a student, too, after all. Before Hawke could talk him out of it, the doorbell rang again, so she groaned and walked back out of the basement.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Cullen,” Isabela cooed, giving him a lurid gaze over her shoulder, “I’m sure we can distract you from the kiddy table.”

 

_Dorian_

 

The harpy with the orange hair reached the door before they did, even though they had gotten out of the car before her. She rang the doorbell three times in quick succession. Was Hawke in trouble with a crime boss? That would be exciting.

“Aveline?” Cassandra asked as they approached the Hawkes’ lawn. The house itself looked rather nice for suburbia, and only twenty minutes away from campus. Dorian was proud that Asharah was able to hook them up with such a useful contact.

The young woman whipped her head at Cassandra’s voice. She blinked in confusion, “Cassandra?”

“It really is marvelous that despite our ‘large and diverse’ student population, we always end up in the same circles,” Dorian mused. Before the one named Aveline could ask any further, the door opened. Dorian assumed the tall, muscular brunette before him was the Hawke Asharah had told him about. She looked at Aveline with bemusement.

“Where is he?” Aveline growled.

Hawke leaned back to let her inside, “Basement. Try not to break anything.”

Aveline said nothing and stalked inside the house, leaving them, the strangers, on the front steps. Hawke looked at them all with curiosity, her eyes landed on Solas and her brow furrowed. Yes, well, he was a bit of the odd one out.

“Dorian Pavus,” Dorian shook Hawke’s hand enthusiastically to break the silence, “This is the lovely Cassandra, Asharah’s roommate. And that is my dad, Solas.”

“I’m not his dad,” Solas sighed.

“Ah, that’s exactly what he would say,” Dorian pretended to swoon with nostalgia.

Hawke chuckled, “So this is the company our little Asharah keeps. Well, come in.” She gestured them inside. Hawke led them down a brief hallway and then opened a door to some downward stairs. A few steps down and Dorian could already hear Asharah’s voice.

“No, no, really. I don’t want you thinking about your work while you’re trying to have fun. I can go,” she apologized to someone.

Dorian couldn’t have any of that, they’d paid for the Lyft already, “You would leave me alone to be the blooming wallflower, my dear?” He hopped over the banister and landed as if expecting applause. Asharah was the only one to snort in amusement.

“Of course not, but it’s going to be awkward with our RA here,” she blushed. Dorian looked to his left and did indeed see the big, bad, mature Cullen standing as close to the wall as possible.

“Ah! Cullen! I did mean to tell you I found that little magnet you gave us with all the dangers of underage drinking incredibly fascinating,” he said with a smile. A tanned woman on the couch barked with laughter.

“I like this one,” she smirked, “Come now, Cullen, there’s no need for this. We’ll make sure they don’t have _too_ much fun.”

“I,” Cullen seemed to rack his brain for an excuse and then he sighed, “I need a beer.”

Aveline had been storming around the room for some time now as if in search of something. And, once she’d pulled away a conspicuous pile of beanbags, appeared to have found it.

The hiding dwarf pulled a smirk, despite being obviously fearful, “Well hello there, Aveline. I must not have seen you there.”

Solas approached Hawke while this was happening, “I would like to introduce myself properly. Thank you for allowing us into your home, I am Solas.”

Hawke looked him up and down and then clapped him on the shoulder, “You’re welcome, Solas. All I ask is that you use your AARP card to get us more booze next time.”

“Hahren?” Asharah piped up, “Is that you?”

Solas frowned, but Dorian caught a glint of amusement in his eye when he saw Asharah, “Indeed, it is I, da’len. Although, if my age is going to become a party favor, I’ll be inclined to leave soon.”

She smirked back, “Don’t be like that, I’m sure there’s someone here you can wave your superiority over.”

Dorian looked between the two of them, he would have to ask Ash later how exactly she knew this guy. For now, though, he could see an open bottle of aggregio. “Astia femundis!” he cheered as he poured himself a cup. He could hear a groan from the couch that was unmistakable.

“Hello to you, too, Fenris," Dorian took a sip and found the wine a bit too warm for his liking. He waved a hand delicately over his cup and let the frost magic float into his drink. “In a twist of fate it is you that is at the center of all the excitement and Anders that is moping about in his room.”

“You got me fired!” Aveline shouted into the dwarf’s face.

“Wait, were you getting paid?” the tan woman from the couch asked. She was sitting next to Fenris, who continued to glower at Dorian. Being a mage from Tevinter always brought along some unpleasantness when meeting new people. However, Fenris was well beyond the scope of Dorian’s understanding. He had barely said hello to the young elf before he was grumbling about the faults of the Magisterium and complaining that Anders was a lightning rod for trouble. Surely, Tevinter had done something to deserve his ire. But it was still rude to hold Dorian accountable for every sin of the empire.

“Yes, a little,” Aveline finished the sentence quietly, and then turned her ire back to its source, “I needed that money Varric!”

Varric held up his hands, “Hey, hey, if it means that much to you I can get you a job somewhere else. I have friends on campus, remember? And you won’t have to wear a costume.”

Aveline seemed to settle a bit at that, but she still frowned at him, “You’d better be good to your word.”

“I would be a crummy writer if I wasn’t,” Varric shrugged.

“Speaking of which,” Cassandra snarled. Apparently, it was her turn to yell at the dwarf, “How is that article coming along, Varric? The one we had to get priority tickets for?”

Fenris had yet to take his eyes off of Dorian. “Must you use your magic for every little inconvenience?” he growled.

“Of course, how else would people know I’m an evil magister bent on consuming all the world’s power? Well, I suppose the moustache helps,” Dorian stroked his chin throughtfully, “And before anyone asks, yes, I’m legal.” Dorian boldly showed the palm of his hand where the Circle’s rune was tattooed. He wasn’t sure that was going to appease many skeptics, though. Tevinter had notoriously been the last nation to agree to the Circle’s Accords on magic. Some would argue that they were still not strict enough on Tevinter, but in the end there was no blood magic, and if he ever stepped out of line, the government would be on him faster than he could say ‘Fasta vass.’

The elf opened his mouth again but Hawke interrupted him with a pat on the shoulder, “Play nice, Fenris. After all, I’ve been touched by magic without ‘being spoiled.’”

Dorian noticed his RA was now staring at him as well. How unpopular he’d suddenly become.

Fenris growled, “You’re Hawke. And he’s from Tevinter, that makes all the difference.”

“What charming company you keep,” Dorian smiled wryly. He did not miss the look Asharah gave him out of the corner of her eyes. Dorian nodded in her direction with sympathy. Not even Cassandra knew she was a mage. It hadn’t been until two weeks ago that she had even entrusted him. It didn’t surprise him, she’d been asking him enough questions that wouldn’t occur to someone that lived without the gift. But she did not bear the mark, she was unregistered. If she was revealed as an apostate, the offense could cost her her scholarship at best, and imprisonment at worst. He wondered why she risked it, but she had only given the vague answer of some sort of political complication. Dorian had been trusted enough with her dire secret, if she needed time to reveal more, he was in no rush. It wasn't like he wasn't already surrounding himself in the company of the unmarked.

“This is...lively,” Solas mused as he sipped a beer awkwardly.  

“Okay, since there are newbies here, I suggest an icebreaker,” Hawke announced over the din, noticeably trying to pull the tension down.

Cullen groaned, “Maker, please, Hawke. After RA orientation I never want to hear that word again.”

“Well, it’s good to know we weren’t the only ones suffering,” Dorian smirked, “Not many good adjectives start with ‘d’.”

“Delicious,” Asharah suggested with a quirk of her brow, “For someone who claims to be so charming, you really are lazy when it comes to words.”

Dorian gasped in mock offense, “You wound me!”

Hawke waved her hands, “It’s not going to be lame like yours, Cullen. It’s 'Never Have I Ever,' of course.”

“Isabela is going to die if we play,” the elf on the couch noted in a monotone. Isabela didn’t even bother denying.

Hawke shrugged, “A cap then, ten and you’re out.”

“Pass,” Aveline groaned, “I always win. I’d rather not be further embarrassed tonight.”

“I’m up,” Varric quickly started pulling out some bean bags from behind the TV, eager to be out of Cassandra’s prying gaze. The players began to set themselves up quickly enough. Asharah lagged behind, her eyes still full of concern. Dorian squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.

“If it helps, I’m still allowed to use my magic in self-defense if the cranky one over there gets too wild,” he whispered in her ear. Her face cracked into a smile and she smacked his arm playfully. He didn’t want his friend to be uncomfortable just because of one stick in the mud. If magic came up in the game, they’d just have to deflect it. Dorian was good at that.

  


\---

 

“Never have I ever attended Kirkwall High School,” Cassandra coolly stated with her Nevarran accent.

“That’s practically cheating,” Hawke groaned, but drank with Cullen nonetheless.

Cassandra shrugged with just the slightest hint of a smirk, “We’re going to have to get creative with those of us left.”

Dorian sat at the edges watching the end of the game dwindle. Isabela and Varric had happily been early outs. They were currently taking turns torturing Aveline with giggles in between. The hedonists corner, if you will. Fenris lay on the floor behind Hawke after he had lost, and leaned on her in a way that was almost affectionate.Now that he was more full of aggregio, he was quieter, much to Dorian’s secret relief. 

Solas only took a moment to think of a question, “Never have I ever prayed to Andraste.”

“How blasphemous,” Dorian muttered, “Such an ‘elfy elf,’ as our _beloved_ Sera would say.” He looked up at Asharah, who merely rolled her eyes. So she was not going to give him the gossip so easily. Very well, he would push her as to why their floormate had suddenly taken to throwing fruit at her door when she’d had a bit more to drink. The sudden shift in the two elves friendship had been hard to ignore even for those not involved. Sera wasn't exactly known for her subtlety. And yet, despite all this, Asharah had yet to tell anyone what had happened.

Cassandra made a disgusted snort into her cup. Cullen was inclined to drink as well and Hawke finished hers with a flourish.

“And with that, I am dismissed,” she moaned dramatically, tipping backwards as if she were swooning.

“I never pegged you for being religious, Hawke,” Cullen asked with a slur, his face was already sufficiently flushed despite his build.

“We went to Kirkwall, bud, I had to pray every time I wanted to visit the bathroom so that I wouldn’t get stabbed,” Hawke chuckled.

“Hey, I didn’t haunt _every_ bathroom,” Varric chided. At that, Hawke and him shared a bawdy laughter that forced Aveline to take a large sip from her beer.

“Time for some revenge, then,” Cullen leaned back on his hands. He looked much more casual than he usually did. It shouldn’t be that strange, Dorian supposed, Cullen was only a couple years older than them. Yet he carried himself so seriously, it was rather amusing to see him loosen up. With a drunken hesitation Cullen stated, “Never have I ever been to Nevarra.”

Cassandra scowled but took her punishment. Solas dipped into his cup.

“You’re well-travelled then, hahren?” Asharah smirked playfully. Dorian was surprised at how at ease she was with this man. They had met before, but he was still...well, older. Could they have found some common ground? Then again, perhaps that was just the charm of his little Ash. Dorian traced circles into the small of her back fondly. He couldn’t exactly blame him, then.

Solas chuckled, making his face look just a bit younger, “If that is to be my downfall in this game, there are worse ways to go.”

“Oh, that would be too easy,” Asharah hummed thoughtfully. “Never have I ever...fucked in an elven temple.”

Cullen coughed loudly and, if possible, turned even more scarlet. Cassandra rolled her eyes but Asharah was staring down Solas with a quirked brow. There was a moment of waiting. Then, without so much as a blink, Solas took a drink from his cup. Asharah laughed so hard Dorian had to support her from falling over.

“I guess you’re an equal opportunity heretic,” Cassandra stated dryly.

“You must tell me which one,” Asharah insisted.

Solas shrugged, “Isn’t it better to leave that to the imagination?”

“I bet it was Andruil, the saucy minx,” Dorian posited. Asharah snorted and elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“Never have I ever,” Cassandra took note of Asharah’s lead, “Lived in the Free Marches.”

Asharah groaned at her roommate weaponizing her personal life, “Ugh, Cassandra you’re such a sniper,” she drank.

“Truly?” Cullen asked after his own sip, “Which part?”

Asharah’s body tensed all of a sudden. Dorian looked up at her face. Was this something she didn’t wish him to know? Could it be traced back to her apostacy? Dorian couldn’t see how, but Asharah’s worry was apparent.

“Do you live close by then?” Cullen pressed, seeming genuinely curious. His brow furrowed, “Wait...you didn’t go to Kirkwall High did you?”

“Ah, no,” Asharah fidgeted and tapped her cup, “Different city-state.”

“Starkhaven?” Hawke suggested, overhearing the conversation, “Oh, don’t tell me it’s Ansburg, at least Kirkwall is a livable anus.”

Asharah shook her head and hesitated. Yet not answering would just appear more suspicious, and an apostate wanted to avoid that. “I’m from Wycome.”

Dorian blinked and he clearly wasn’t the only one surprised. Everyone around their circle had wide eyes and Cassandra unwittingly was catching flies with her mouth agape. Everyone, except Solas.

 _Oh,_ Dorian thought, _that would explain the elvish, and the familiarity._

“Wycome?” Cullen repeated, and then clumsily went on, “That’s a Dalish reserve.”

“Yyyyup,” Asharah reluctantly answered. Dorian’s head tried to wrap around this through an already hazy mind. Was that why she hadn’t registered as a mage? What were the rules regarding that anyway? She’d never insinuated that she was Dalish. Then again, he’d never asked, he’d just assumed she was from the city. His heart clenched. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He thought that he was above all the small little ignorances of the ‘shems’, but he didn’t even know there was a difference beyond the marks on their skin.

Cullen, in his state, lacked the tact to stop, “But you don’t have the...uh,” he gestured his hand flippantly around his face.

Asharah, for her part was keeping it together quite well. She answered curtly, “The vallaslin. I don’t have it, but I am Dalish. Next question.”

Without missing a beat, Solas said, “Never have I ever had a dog.”

“Okay, that is just inhumane,” Hawke grumbled with exaggerated disgust. Ash gave a look of gratitude across the circle at Solas. Dorian, too, had to admit that he was thankful that he’d stepped in. Solas merely shrugged, his lips turned upward mischievously. Dorian was happy that his friend wouldn’t have to suffer, but he was also irritated at himself. He would have to do better if he was going to prove to be more than the horrible Tevinter magister Fenris made him out to be.

  
\---

_Hawke_

The game ended soon after Cullen started tearing off his shirt.

“Now _this_ is what I’ve been talking about!” Isabela grinned and bit her lip.

“Cullen!” Cassandra turned beet red and turned her eyes away with her hands over them.

“S’too hot,” the now shirtless blonde whined. Hawke giggled so hard that she snorted unattractively. She was far past the point of caring about that, rolling on the floor with Varric’s head next to hers. Cullen was well built, as to be expected from a young athlete. From her spot on the ground, Hawke could see the sharp curve of his hip bones that lead into his groin.

“Looks like Curly’s got some...well, curlies,” Varric muttered to her. Hawke was undone again and laughed like a witch. She stared at the fan on the wall, which was a mistake. The room was already spinning, and trying to focus on its turns only made her feel more nauseous. Hawke rolled on her stomach and closed her eyes to compose herself. She felt a hand on her back.

“You alright, Hawke?” Fenris asked quietly. It was soft, perhaps softer than he meant. And it was for her. He was concerned, although he too had been dipping into the aggregio. With the tempest of all the people around them, he’d looked for her. Hawke’s chest warmed and she smiled with the tingle of alcohol.

“Yeeshhhhh,” Hawke drawled and curled her toes. She looked back at Fenris. His quirked brow was evidence he didn’t believe her, but he was smirking all the same.

“My, my,” Dorian mused, “Perhaps I should attend some of these games myself." Asharah was covering her mouth and failing to hide a smile. She was turning a lovely pink herself, but she wasn’t as rigid as Cassandra, so she kept looking. Such a shame that Cullen had been trying so hard to be a stoic and dutiful RA. Oh how it had dwindled so quickly. Hawke felt a little proud that her basement was his undoing.

“I’m getting some water,” Aveline grunted, taking the familiar route up the stairs.

“Wait,” Hawke stumbled to her feet and nearly ran headfirst into the arm of the couch. Fenris gripped her by the shoulders to keep her from tipping over. Hawke shrugged him off and continued towards the stairs. The world was tilting and the short stairway seemed an insurmountable problem.

“Take the rail, Hawke,” Fenris nudged firmly. Hawke dutifully gripped it and practically pulled herself up the stairs. About halfway, she fell a little backwards. Fenris stood stalwart to keep her from tumbling down. “It’s a wonder you haven’t killed yourself somehow.”

Hawke giggled, “I always have someone to cushion the blow,” she tweaked his nose affectionately. He was one of hers, even if he didn’t know it. The circle she kept close to her heart. That was all she needed. She stumbled her way into the kitchen where Aveline was filling a pitcher with water. She stared intensely at Hawke, but that was pretty much par for the course.

“Having fun?” Aveline asked unsmiling.

Hawke gave a goofy grin in response, “I’m always having fun, what about you though?” Hawke stepped out of Fenris’ arms to lean upon the kitchen counter so she could talk to Aveline face to face. “We don’t talk as much anymore.”

“Don’t we?” Aveline looked confused.

Hawke could feel the sadness that came just as easily as the giddiness that alcohol gave her. She choked it down, “I miss when you lived closer. And now you’re so busy, you didn’t tell me you were taking on all these jobs.”

“I didn’t tell anyone that,” Aveline sighed and set the pitcher aside, “I’m just...figuring things out. Ever since….”

The name Wesley hung in the air, not needing to be said. As much as she’d loved Aveline, she hadn’t really known much about her long-term high school boyfriend. They rarely hung out together. If Hawke was honest, the fact that his parents were templars made her wary. She knew Aveline would never turn her in, but she didn’t want to brush edges with danger. Wesley himself was on the wrestling team, another meathead, but a good guy. Aveline was happy, and that was all Hawke needed to know. And that was all she’d ever know. Wesley’s parents had found him in his room overdosed on Lyrium. Aveline had known about his troubles with the substance, but apparently not the full extent. He’d been grabbing it out of his parent’s safe for too long. It was a few months before graduation.

Hawke smiled weakly, “I get it, I get it, I’m just being needy,” she pouted, “I miss being told to stop swerving intentionally in the suburbs.”

Aveline gave a small chuckle, “I’ll keep that in mind, Hawke. I’ll call you tomorrow. After you’ve recovered from this lovely hangover.” She poured Hawke a generous glass of water.

“I’m the Champion of Kirkwall,” Hawke slurred, invoking her High School nickname, a sign of how far gone she was, “Nothing is going to bring me down!”

“I’ll make sure she drinks it,” Fenris slid the cup away from Hawke’s flippancy as she pounded her fist on the counter. “Come on Hawke, let’s get you to bed.”

“You can’t,” Hawke interrupted herself by yawning heavily, “Tell me what to do, you dork.”

Fenris did not seem at all phased by such threats. She kept slurring them as he herded her towards another set dreaded of stairs. “If you keep this up, your mother is going to wake up.” Hawke had to agree that would be a suboptimal outcome. So, she resigned herself to being as physically incapable as possible and groaning. It was impressive the Fenris managed to get her up to her room without spilling a drop of the water. She opened the door to her room and quickly shuffled out of Fenris’ grasp to flop onto her bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow her drowsiness started to cloud her mind. Fenris gently placed the water next to her on the drawers.

“Drink,” he ordered. She managed to sit up and start gingerly sipping.

“Yes sir,” she growled, “You’ve never been in here before, have you?”

“No,” Fenris looked around then. He took note of the clothes strewn about on the floor with textbooks, papers, and a backpack shoved into a corner. “I can’t say I’m surprised, or impressed.”

Hawke feigned a gasp, “How embarrassing.” She became suddenly aware of how alone they were. That wasn’t good. Hawke was a social drinker for a reason. If she had people to entertain she couldn’t let the bad stuff come in. But she could feel it, she was getting smaller. Damn. She felt so stupid then, making Fenris have to treat her like a baby. Who would want to hang out with someone like that? A nuisance.

Hawke’s expression must have shifted, because Fenris asked, “Are you sick?”

She shook her head, but she let the words tumble out, “Why don’t you hate me?”

Fenris’ eyes widened slightly, he wasn’t quite sure if she was joking, “Would you like me to?”

Hawke could only muster up a weak smile. She looked down at her palm, bare and free of any mark from the Circle. “I know you hate magic, but you’ve never turned Anders or me in.”

Fenris snorted, “I’m not a rat, Hawke. While I might have considered throwing my annoying roommate under the bus more than once, it’s not who I am.” He pushed a piece of her hair behind her ear. It was a tender gesture. One he’d never done before. She’d taken advantage of their state and gone for more physical contact than they usually shared, but it was all her. She knew he would forgive her, which made her feel all the more terrible. But he was here, still. Indulging her. Hawke pushed her palms hard into her eyes and laughed to keep herself from crying.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I’m so weepy all of a sudden. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fenris dismissed, “I’d rather this than have you be drinking alone. That always makes things worse.”

Hawke didn’t want to be alone. Not ever, and not now. She felt pathetic, she was small and she wanted her friends to stay. She removed her hands from her eyes and reached out to Fenris’ arm, “Stay with me. At least until I fall asleep.”

Fenris looked surprised by the request, but not offended. He thought for a moment, “Okay.”

She smiled genuinely, “You can get a chair, I know you don’t want to get close.” She gestured to the chair by her desk. It was only recently that Fenris had allowed Hawke to hug him on the rare occassion. She didn’t know why, but he had a thing with being touched. Something dark and terrible that she didn’t want to open just yet. But she wanted him to stay. Fenris looked at her and the chair.

“Scoot over,” he said.

Hawke tilted her head, “Why?”

“Why, she says,” he snorts, “Unless you’d like me to plank on top of you, move your ass.” Hawke rolled lazily till her back hit the wall. Fenris lay down beside her, far enough away that there was respectable space, but close enough to feel his breath. And it smelled like wine.

“I’m going to throw up on you,” she warned. Not quite sure what to make of this situation, and her eyes were getting harder to keep open, she closed them.

“I’ll leave if you do.”

“Then I won’t.”

Hawke smiled. She could fall in love with someone like Fenris. 

Darkness claimed her quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does a PS2 exist in this world? just coz  
> This is the first time introducing magic into the mix (I think?) and it's going to become more relevant as the story goes on. After next chapter, we'll start focusing on some more 'plot' things, mixed in with self-indulgence of course.


	4. Prologue - The Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We come to the end of our introduction. The party comes to a close and everyone has to wake up.

**Asharah**

 

Asharah had predicted that spending an evening at a party with her RA would be awkward. She did not anticipate this, though.

Cullen moaned from his spot on the floor, his abandoned jeans acting as a makeshift pillow, “S’fan’s moving so fast,” he gripped his head. They’d managed to get him on his back so that he wasn’t bumping around the basement and causing injury to himself and Varric’s shins. Asharah was trying her best to not look at his choice of boxer briefs, as Dorian was not giving him that benefit.

“I guess this throws all that safe drinking talk he gave you lot out the window, huh?” Varric smirked next to her on the couch.

“Blackmail material is always useful,” Dorian mused, “Red really _does_ suit him. The lion print is a bit elementary, though.” Cassandra had taken to sipping in the corner and speaking quietly with Aveline, both ardently trying to pretend none of this was happening. After Hawke and Fenris had left, they were all left to their own discretions to make sure no one died. So far, they’d been relatively successful. Asharah still couldn’t completely quell the heat of shame and anger she’d felt during the game, but there was enough excitement to let her coast through the emotions in peace. It helped that Varric had been regaling her with tales of his ventures with Hawke in high school. Perhaps he somehow could tell that Asharah was feeling shaken up.

“I’m calling bull shit,” Asharah shook her head at the dwarf.

“Most people do, but I assure you, they had that Druffalo trapped in that gym for days,” Varric assured with a sip of his beer, “Had to cancel a pep rally and all.”

“What a waste,” Asharah grinned. She drank the last bit of her water that Aveline had provided. She had only gotten buzzed, but she really did not enjoy the headaches that came with drinking, so she thought it best to be cautious. Asharah stood up to get more water. Solas was sitting next to the table in one of the bean bags, also nursing some water.

“Is the wine not to your liking?” Asharah teased, pouring herself a cup.

“It’s fine,” Solas, “I am not much of a casual drinker though, the taste does not suit me.”

“Oh? Are you telling me you don’t have an eclectic palette for scotch or whiskey?” she grinned, looking down at him. He looked tired, but content with himself. Asharah supposed if you were going to be the weird outcast in the corner of the room, you might as well be confident with it.

“If you’re expecting me to fall into certain preconceptions, I’m afraid you are going to be sorely disappointed,” Solas met her eyes. A smooth talker, then, more so than she remembered from class.

She smirked, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” She looked over her shoulder briefly. Everyone talking or poking fun at Cullen on the floor. Friends, but also, people who did not know. He’d been the only one to notice, well, besides Sera, and even then, she’d had to ask. He had just simply _known._ Asharah crouched down to Solas’ level and spoke quietly, “Thank you, during the game and all….”

“It was no trouble,” Solas waved his hand, “I had no desire to see Cullen stumble his way through an understanding.” He looked over to the blonde mess in front of him, “Or I suppose crawl might be more apt.”

She laughed at that, “Yes, that’s going to make our next ‘home-base’ meeting quite the event.” It was nice. Dorian and Cassandra and all her friends were great comforts to her, but they were not her people. Even if Solas did not have the marks, that did not matter, he _felt_ like her people. And that was all she really wanted right now. “Do you think,” she started slowly, staring at the floor, “We could talk some more about that...stuff? I’m sorry if you don’t want to, but I...don’t get many opportunities.” She felt embarrassed, the tip of her ears becoming hot. She was about to take it back when he responded.

“Of course,” he smiled gently, “It is refreshing to have someone interested in such things. Not to mention, I do love someone admiring my opinions.”

“Ass!” She snorted and gave his knee a playful shove. It was firm and lithe. A man’s leg. For some reason, that surprised her. She’d only been close to her peers, and the Dalish boys back home. She shook her head, that was a stupid thought, it was just a knee. And yet she could not stop her ears from turning even redder. It was the beer, of course. Elves were known for getting flush.

“Ash, dearest, I believe if we want to get back to the dorm before our darling Cullen starts spewing on my Martens, now would be the most opportune time,” Dorian called from his spot on the wall with a slight yawn.

Ash stood and saw that Cullen was staring at the floor and twiddling the carpet between his fingers, his skin turning a sickly green. Aveline called from her spot next to Cassandra, “I can drive you, I’ll be heading back to campus anyway.”

Isabela moaned, “Ah, so it is I and Varric’s duty to tend to the fallen giant. At least Fenris gets to huddle all warm and cozy with Hawke.”

“He’s still up there?” Varric asked, looking to the ceiling as if he could see through it. He shrugged, “You may have the couch my lady, I shall take my place at the throne.” Varric kicked his beloved bean bag, “Besides it’ll be heavily entertaining once Curly here wakes up.”

Isabela purred, “That is quite true. Quite a view to fall asleep to.”

The three of them said their goodbyes, Asharah wasn’t quite sure Cullen even registered them leaving. In the end, though, that was probably for the best. Aveline’s car was enough to fit them all, but it was snug. Luckily, she kept it very clean, so there wasn’t any clutter at their feet. Solas took the passenger seat in the front while Asharah was squeezed in the back between Dorian and Cassandra. Aveline turned the radio on, but kept it at a hum for background noise. The clock said it was about 2 AM. Asharah yawned, that made sense.

It wasn’t until they got onto the speedway that Cassandra said, softly, “You could have told me.”

Asharah leaned onto her shoulder. She hadn’t expected the hurt in Cassandra’s voice, nor that it would affect her so. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“But we’re roommates...and friends...I thought,” Cassandra whispered.

Asharah felt a tug in her heart and took hold of Cassandra’s hand tightly, “You are probably my best friend here.”

“I thought that was my title,” Dorian whined.

Asharah smiled, “I can’t have more than one?”

“No.”

“Well, she lives with me, she gets the benefit.”

Dorian humphed dramatically, leaning onto the door to give the two of them a little more privacy.

“I know I can come off very rough,” Cassandra went on.

Asharah giggled, “That’s an understatement. But I like that about you. You don’t bullshit.”

The corners of Cassandra’s mouth turned up slightly, a very rare sight, “Thank you.” She looked down at the car floor, “Just...don’t feel like you have to hide things from me.”

A wave of guilt rushed through Asharah. She looked down at her hand in Cassandra’s, unmarked with the sign of the Circle. Her magic tingling under her skin, unchecked. “I promise, I’ll tell you.”

“Good.”

Asharah swore she saw Solas’ eyes flash to hers for a split second, but she was most likely just paranoid.

 

\---

 

**Hawke**

 

Hawke woke alone. Her phone said it was 12:30pm, and below that she had a text.

-10:12 AM Fenris

Had a meeting on campus. Let me know if you require my help, or need more painkillers.

She smiled sadly, it was a bit much to expect him to still be there. Her headache was dull, thanks to the water, but she did indeed need more painkillers. Hawke stepped down the stairs to the kitchen, hoping Gamlen wasn’t there. Her wish was granted and she was able to pour herself some water in peace.

Suddenly, the doorway to the basement creaked open. Hawke turned, expecting that Varric had spent the night. Cullen stood in the doorway with only his boxer-briefs clinging tightly to his form. She raised a brow. He looked a perfect mixture of humiliated and ill.

“Bathroom,” he managed to croak out.

Hawke pointed down the hallway.

He nodded. Before disappearing to the toilet he muttered, “I am so bloody fired.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short in comparison to the last two chapters, sorry! Next time we'll be focusing more on Asharah and her deal and it's gonna be way longer again. Plus a little egg-man :  
> It's really weird writing my Inquisitor like this, because in my game she's around 24, aging her down has felt so weird.  
> Hope you all enjoyed, thanks for reading!


	5. Expressionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prior to the events of the Prologue, Asharah meets Solas for the first time in her art class.

Asharah was annoyed that she still had to shell out a good hundred gold for art supplies in spite of the hefty tuition. One would think that the University would have enough for every student enrolled in “Introduction to Painting,” but alas. Asharah was lucky in the sense that she was mostly covered for the rest of her classes by the Herald of Andraste Scholarship, but they didn't cover non-Major courses At least the students were allowed to keep all their supplies in the classroom. If she had to stuff it in her dorm Cassandra would probably burn it. She was already “messy” enough, according to her roommate, but at least she kept it to her side.

Another little irritation was the fact that these classes were in the evenings. Asharah had picked the earliest one she could find, and it still started at seven. She really didn’t need to be getting back to the dorm around ten, but there was little she could do unless she wanted to take Dancing with Sera. That just sounded like more energy than she needed. Asharah didn’t yet know anyone who was majoring in the Arts school. So, she wasn’t prepared for just how...white everything in the Valmont building was. The walls, the furniture, the doors, everything. The stairs were all spirally, and abstract photography attempted to cover some of the whiteness. She was used to libraries and conference rooms for her classes, more traditional college fair. Could she paint on an easel from a bean bag chair? In any case, the room was on the first floor, so she would not get to venture further into Willy Wonka’s factory, unfortunately. The hallways winded and Asharah’s shoes clacked on the wooden floors in echoes, most people had gone home by now so there were no students passing her by. She opened the door to find a relatively normal room, to her surprise. It was spacious enough so everyone could have a seat at their easel, all arranged in a circle. The professor was looking for something at their desk but gave her a smile as she came in.

“Come in, we’ll be starting soon,” she greeted.

Asharah nodded and took her drawing pad out from the closet, recognizing her name in permanent marker. Most of the students were already there. All shems. Except for the one. Bald. Okay, that was rude, but it was what she had noticed. Well, there was an empty seat next to them, would it be cliquey to sit next to the only other elf? She didn’t know, it was unfamiliar for her to have so many...not-elves around. Her first day on Cullen's floor had nearly induced a panic-attack. Luckily, Dorian had the rare gift of making anyone who had any shred of joy in them feel at ease. Cassandra had intimidated her at most, but she quickly realized just how much they had in common, making their shared room a safe haven. Overall, though, she wasn’t used to people possibly judging her for pointed ears. Well, standing there like a statue was just going to make things more awkward. She sat next to Bald. Asharah gave him--it was a him--a small smile. He nodded curtly in response. He was older, definitely not a freshman. Could grad students take this class? He wasn’t old enough to be a mid-life crisis student. Late twenties maybe? He wasn’t bad looking for that age, she thought absentmindedly.

Ugh. She could hear Dorian teasing her about that now. Something something daddy-chaser, whatever. 

The professor passed out a meager syllabus that was quickly forgotten by pretty much everyone, including the professor herself. Then, she clapped her hands, “Alright, we’re going to start every class off with a warm-up.” She placed a vase on a table in the middle of the room. They had ten minutes to draw it as best they could. Starting off quickly apparently. Asharah picked up her pencilset and got to work. She had always preferred drawing objects and creatures, even as a child. Her tribe had this library, it was small, but it held plenty of Dalish history. She used to flip through the pages of elven artifacts and try to doodle them on her own. Orbs and spearheads and Halla. She’d always wanted a Halla, but they belonged to reservations and zoos now, trying to recover from over-hunting. There was also an encyclopedia that had all these drawings of the vallaslin.

Some of them were so beautiful, and others just looked frightening. She used to think they were so fascinating. For years she would dream about which one she wanted on her skin, perhaps the vengeful Elgar’nan or the merciful Mythal. Asharah used to draw them lovingly. But that was before Fen’Harel changed everything, and left her confused. When the paper was research was printed, she was right in the middle of her preparations for her own Awakening. Asharah had wanted to go through with it, she really had. But the thoughts wouldn't leave her mind, the ones whispering over and over,  _Slave_. She still hadn’t answered any of Keeper Deshanna’s calls…. She pushed that away for now, it wasn’t the time to have an identity crisis in the middle of class. She had come to college, bare-faced, and ready to learn from the world. It would be better to focus on that for the time being.

“Alright! Time's up.”

Asharah leaned back and looked at her vase. It was alright, she’d gotten the outline okay, even managed to get in some shading. The professor took a seat and started asking each student to show her their drawings. She gave thoughtful feedback about things Asharah couldn’t even begin to look for in a piece.

“I expect you all to get better at critiquing as time goes on, so it’s alright if you don’t have much to say,” as she finished with the first student, “But just in case, does anyone else have anything to add?”

The bald elf beside her gently raised his hand. “You should try starting with the outline, not overthinking it. If you do it often enough, you’ll train your hand to the shape.”

The professor blinked at him and smiled, “Are you sure you’re a beginner?”

He smiled back, “I used to dabble, never trained.”

So he’s a grad student who wants to show off, great. Asharah snuck a peek at his own canvas. Unsurprisingly, his was a much more accurate depiction of the vase. If anything was wrong with it, it could be explained as artistic interpretation. Cheeky bastard.

After everyone showed their easels the professor began a short lecture. She taught them a little bit about color theory, how the acrylics should be mixed, and how to take care of the brushes for repeated use. The professor looked at her watch when there was only a half hour left to class, “Alright, pair up everyone. We’re going to do a quick one like we did at the beginning. Try and use what I’ve just taught you but don’t be frustrated if it’s not what you imagined. That takes time.”

All the shems apparently knew someone in the class or were to0 nervous to approach the elves. Although, being set up they way they were it was just as likely that they just chose who was sitting next to them. She was the first to look at him with an awkward gaze. He met her eyes with a smirk.

“It appears we’re the leftovers,” he said. She smiled politely.

“Okay, now, try and paint your partner’s face as best you can. And again, don’t worry too much about the results,” the professor instructed, “Try to focus on the colors.”

Crap, of course.

Asharah pursed her lips, this was going to be embarrassing when he turned around a masterpiece and she’d only drawn an egg.

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he said.

“Asharah,” she responded, trying not to be intimidated. She reached for her brush, “Well...don’t be angry if you looked like mashed potatoes at the end of all this.”

Solas softly chuckled, “I won’t be offended. We’re beginners after all.”

She raised a brow, “Some more than others.” His skin was a good place to start. He was super pale, so she began mixing some red and yellow into a huge glob of white.

He noticed the slight sharpness to her tone, “Ah, you think I’m showing off.”

She merely shrugged.

“I assure you my ego is already sufficiently bloated,” he responded sardonically. He had already begun working without her noticing, “I don’t need any extra help.”

She snorted, so he was a little charming. He didn’t really talk how she expected someone his age to talk. Maybe she thought he was supposed to be more of an adult? Or less like one. There was a quality to his voice that was unlike any other she’d ever heard. Words chosen carefully as if plucked from the air before him. She outlined the vague shape of his head and frowned when the back of it looked more like that of a lumpy martian.

He noticed her expression, “Anatomy is difficult. If it helps, follow the ear to the jawline.”

“You’re not supposed to help me. That would be cheating, _hahren_ ,” she teased. The use of the elven word surprised him. She felt a little silly then, would a city elf really know the word? She had no idea. Fenedhis, what if she'd just offended him? Or worse, embarrassed herself and made her look super "elfy," as Sera would put it. Even without the marks she couldn't hide her past very well.

After a moment, he scoffed, “How old do you think me?”

“Too old to be here,” she said, letting her shoulders sag. At least he hadn't been offended. She took his advice anyway and painted his pointed jawline.

“There is never an age where you’re too old to learn,” he responded, and then added with a smirk, “ _da’len_.”

Asharah couldn’t help but blush as he played along with her jest. She had not been called that in a very long time. “Touché,” she simply replied. They painted in silence for a few minutes, alternating staring at each other in a way that would’ve been inappropriately long otherwise. She asked him to look up when she needed to see his eyes. They stared at each other for a long while as she studied his irises. They were the color of a cloudy sky, she didn’t even know eyes could be that color. Yet despite the solemnity of their shade, they were upturned in a way that belay a hidden smile. A smiling rain cloud. She abruptly stopped when she thought she’d been looking too long. Ok, so he was more attractive than she had first thought, at least to her. She doubted Dorian would see the appeal. Asharah grimaced at the silly thoughts, there was no reason to get hot and bothered at the first elven man she happened across outside the reservation. She was pulled from her mind when she noticed he had now taken to frowning.

“Is there something even you can’t figure out?” she smirked.

He shook his head, “Just a thought.”

“Oh?” she probed, eager to be distracted from her own thoughts.

He hesitated, not sure if he should ask, “You are Dalish are you not?”

That was a surprise. She widened her eyes, “Ah...yes, but, how did you…? It was the elvish wasn't it.” Asharah sighed in defeat.

He smiled, “That helped, yes. However, it was the accent. Most people can’t tell, but it’s undeniable once you know how to recognize it.”

She absentmindedly lifted a hand to her lips. She’d never heard of such a thing before. Unless...her friends never pointed it out. Had they just been too polite? Before leaving her tribe, she had only surrounded herself with Dalish. Her eyes darted around in a panic. What if everyone knew all along and just hadn’t said anything and they were whispering about it behind her back?

“Besides, the name Asharah is…” Solas stopped when he noticed her worry, “I apologize, I did not mean to make you self-conscious. I was merely curious.”

“Is,” she swallowed, “Is there a problem with me being Dalish?”

He quirked a brow, “Not necessarily.” That wasn’t a no, Asharah noted. He continued, “I just thought that you would have your-”

“Vallaslin,” she finished for him. She couldn't stop the red from spreading to her cheeks now. Even Dorian and Cassandra didn’t know that she was Dalish yet. They’d just assumed she was a flat-ear like the rest. No one asked, so she didn’t say. And yet this man had noticed her shame right away.

“I...I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was a sensitive subject,” Solas sputtered.

She shook her head, it wasn’t his fault. He’d studied enough to know of the Dalish customs, of course it would seem odd for one her age to not be marked. “No, no, it’s okay,” she forced a smile.

Instead, she decided to focus on his ginger brows. Of course, she accidentally made them much too orange. Asharah snorted while trying to contain her laughter. He’d been painted with such a dour expression and now there was an inexplicable line of cheeto dust over his eyes. Solas looked confused. Who wouldn’t be, after that awkward end to their last chat, she inwardly chided.

“Don’t tell me you gave me a mustache,” he chided, “It doesn’t suit me.”

“No,” she chuckled, “But you’re going to be disappointed in my skills either way.”

He gave an amused look and leaned forward as if to look. She pushed him gently on his shoulder, “Ah ah ah! No looking, that’s cheating!”

A gleam crossed his eyes playfully, “We’ve already established I don’t abide by the rules, da’len.”

“Even so,” she pointed towards his chair, “I’d rather delay my embarrassment as much as possible.”

“Should I sully mine to make you feel better?” he asked, “I think green highlights might be a nice change.”

“Ooh, yes, I’ll be an elven stoplight,” Asharah rolled her eyes, twirling a lock of her red hair in her finger. He chuckled at that. He was cute when he laughed, she noted innocently. Not that he seemed to do it all that often if his demeanor was anything to go off of. Such a waste.

“Five minutes everyone,” the professor announced, “When you’re done let them dry in the back, we’ll start the next class with critiques. And try not to stay late, I’d like to get home too.”

Asharah leaned back and appraised her work. Well, he didn’t look _that_ terrible. Though she had tried to accentuate his cheekbones and had ended up making it look like he was some sort of weird chipmunk. There was absolutely no way to salvage the eyebrows, so she just tried to get in a little more shading to make it look a little more polished. She noticed Solas was already cleaning his brushes and packing up. She scowled, “You better just be being lazy.”

He laughed again, the dimples near his eyes barely showing, “You’d rather I shirk my duties than to recognize our difference of skills?”

Asharah pouted despite her attempts to appear mature, “I hate losing.”

“Clearly,” Solas smirked. He waited patiently for her to finish. After a couple more minutes she gave up and laid down her brush with a sigh.

“Alright, show your cards. Please don’t laugh,” she pleaded. They slid their easels back so that both of them could see it at the same time. She looked at his portrayal and had to stop herself from gasping. Bastard. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but there was a defined style to it. His coloring was polygonal in nature, as if her skin was comprised of geometric shapes. The shades blended together naturally, rather than the harsh contrast that mired hers. But the thing that impressed her the most was the expression. Solas’ portrait was plain, he stared off into the distance. She’d been so focused on everything else. His painting, however, made her look like she was surprised, as if it was a photo being taken without her knowing. The subtlety of it was fascinating. She couldn't even hide the envy on her face.

As for him, his lips were pressed tight, but they curved upwards ever so slightly.

“It’s really not fair,” she sighed. She knew it was childish to get irritated, but she couldn’t help it. She’d always been that way, striving to be the best at everything even when she knew that was impossible. Keeper Deshanna had scolded her for it many times over.

“It’s not bad,” he consoled, “Especially for a first try.” He noticed this didn’t seem to assuage her, “Perhaps in time you will surpass me.”

“Of course I will,” she smirked with purposeful arrogance, “So you’d better savor your victories now, _hahren_.”

He rolled his eyes at the title, but she noticed the ghost of a smile on his lips remained. Solas began to move his easel to the back as Asharah cleaned her brushes. On his way back she noticed the case he kept his brushes in, dark grey with the initials ‘F.H.’ embroidered on them. She hadn’t heard of that brand before.

“Are you borrowing from a friend?” she asked casually, gesturing to the pack. He quirked a brow before looking down.

“Ah, yes,” he quickly answered, “They’re from a friend.”

“Lucky,” she snorted, “I had to buy all mine.”

He bowed his head, “Well, until next time, Asharah.”

She waved him away, a bit uncomfortable by his formalities. She lay her easel in the back with the others. It was clear to see his was the stand out among the sea of amateurs. It really was unfair. Asharah briefly considered tearing it off and keeping it for herself. For her classmate’s pride of course. Instead, she left it be, and stared at it as much as possible until the door closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might update again sooner because I feel like this chapter is cheating a little, although it does give context for a lot of what will come later and some of what has already happened with Asharah and Solas. Ah well, I wrote this first so it came first. A Prologue to a Prologue, smooth organization... Regardless, for me, this is where their story begins and I wanted to world to be more established before showing it. Thanks for reading!


	6. Define Your Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asharah visits the library and finds procastination and solace in a certain dirty apostate hobo.

**Fereldan University Library**

 

“Where is she even getting pomegranates? I tried asking one of the dining hall cooks if there was any grapefruit and they looked at me like I was crazy,” Dorian asked quietly as he continued to organize the shelves. Luckily they were on the ground floor, and as long as they were quiet enough, they wouldn’t be bothering any hardcore studiers.

The Ferelden University Library was rather large compared to what Asharah was used to. Her clan’s had always tried to keep up with modern studies, but it was always suffering from financial resources. The government was more keen to pour money into districts with people that would reach outside their small little reservation. The University’s library was big and white, with floor upon floor of books. The higher up you went, the more quiet you had to be. It was a magnificent display of knowledge, and pomposity at the same time.

“I don’t know, she probably bought it somewhere. Dedication I guess, ‘coz it looks like a vagina?” Asharah offered.

“Does it actually?”

Asharah thought for a moment, “No. No it doesn’t. Why do people say it does…?” She was following Dorian for a bit as he worked his shift while gathering the books she would need on the way. Therefore, still being productive while simultaneously putting off actual work. He, of course, was doing similarly while his boss was preoccupied at the help desk.

“Patriarchal fruit labelling aside, if you don’t solve it soon, Cullen’s going to get involved. Seeds aren’t good for wood doors you know,” Dorian pointed out. Asharah snorted. She hadn’t spoken to Cullen since Hawke’s party, mostly out of respect for him. She didn’t blame him for not approaching her. If she were in his position, she’d probably never leave her room. Nonetheless, she’d received a mysterious apology letter shoved under her door the day afterwards. He was a true gentleman at heart it seemed. Asharah had put it on Cassandra’s corkboard despite her roommate’s protests. She was a child.

Perhaps that was something she could find common ground with Sera on, she thought bitterly. Then she wouldn’t have to keep wiping up the fruit smears on their door.

“Can’t I just show her some weird porn on deviantart and call it even?” Asharah asked wearily.

“Please don’t do that. She shares it with everyone you know,” he groaned, “I don’t pretend to be an innocent Northern belle, but I’d like to keep my mind somewhat pristine.”

“ _I_ have nothing to apologize for,” Asharah stated harshly. She knew her anger wasn’t directed at Dorian but she couldn’t help it, just the memory of that inane argument made her blood boil. It had been like trying to make a brick wall understand complicated mathematics.

Dorian shrugged off her ire, “I’m not saying you do, but Sera is difficult to ignore.”

Asharah shook her head, she didn’t want to discuss this.

“Feel free to slap me if I’m wrong but was it about,” Dorian waved a hand over his face delicately. Asharah swallowed, not saying anything was confirmation enough. Sera had noticed she was ‘too elfy’. That wasn’t exactly a surprise. Asharah had always seemed perturbed by Sera’s views on the matter of culture. Sera was talking about her people, the Dalish, when she didn’t even know it, she felt invisible. Sera was the only one who had asked. That _was_ a surprise, Sera was more observant than Asharah thought. If it had gone differently, perhaps Asharah would have admired that about her.

“You always act like you’ve got a stick up your arse when anything elfy comes up,” she’d said, almost an accusation. They’d been sitting in Sera’s room just shooting the shit when this came about. It was out of nowhere, and yet it had been there the whole time. “So are you?”

“Am I what?” Asharah had asked slowly, staring intensely at the cracked ceiling in Sera’s dorm.

“Dalish, that’s the word right?” she’d continued, “You say there’s stories and history, as if you know it. Even the people in the city who cling to that stuff don’t talk about it like that. It’s like waving a flag to them, keeps ‘em hopeful. But you’re different. You live in it.”

Asharah felt cornered, but she thought this could be a relief. She wouldn’t have to feel like she was hiding. So she didn’t lie, she answered, “Yes.”

“But you don’t look like it. Why? Or do you have to slit your wrists and cry out to one of ‘em gods before they let you scratch your face with scribbles,” she’d went on. There was something in Sera’s voice. She was curious, but it seemed almost hopeful. Asharah swallowed her growing irritation, at least she’d have some sort of outlet for these feelings. That line of thinking would soon prove to be irresponsible.

“I didn’t take them. They wanted me to, but I didn’t,” Asharah went on.

“You can just say no? Don’t they kick you out then? Not worthy or whatever,” Sera probed.

Asharah’s heart felt cold and her chest tightened, “No. They didn’t like it, but they understood.” A silence.

“So…,” Sera kicked her legs off the side of her bed, “Why didn’t you? You act all puffed up enough about your glory. But then when you get to paint it all over yourself you say no.”

“There’s been evidence,” Asharah hissed, she took a breath “From a study. Some whistleblower or something from an archeological site. He says that the vallaslin were slave markings. That the Dalish are wrong.”

There was another beat of silence. And then Sera laughed.

“Forgive me if I fail to see the humor in this,” Asharah felt her throat clam up with hot rage. No, not here. She was going to lose it, she should stop it, but she couldn’t.

“Come off it. I knew it was all a load of farce,” Sera giggled, “Pretending they know everything, being ‘real elves,’ but they don’t know their foot from their ass. It’s all just fancy dress.”

Asharah thought of the look on Deshanna’s face when she’d refused. Not just disappointment, but fear. The hope for the future, herself, was shaken. What did it mean for the clan? She saw the elders watching her as she got on the bus that would take her to University. Judging through their sad eyes and marked faces that they couldn’t take back. It was basically spitting on everything they’d lived for. She saw her sister, only two years away from her own vallaslin. Asking her why she hadn’t. Wondering if what she did was wrong.

And she heard Sera’s laughter cutting through it all.

Asharah sat upright and Sera could tell just from the look on her face.

“What? Don’t go getting pissy now,” she groaned.

“It wasn’t just ‘fancy dress’ to us,” Asharah growled, “It was our only way to cling to what we had. Everything else was taken away.”

“Alright then! If you want to play victim all your life and cry then that’s fine,” Sera waved her arms flippantly, “But don’t try and tell me there’s a ‘we’! There is no ‘we’, all those old elves aren’t here anymore!”

Asharah didn’t know when she started screaming, “So what? Just sweep it under the rug then? Pretend like nothing ever happened? I don’t _want_ to be a victim Sera! But I am!”

“Bullshit” Sera stood up, “You didn’t take the face, and that’s a start. You can just move on!”

“I can’t!” Asharah flipped her arms up like she was having a fit, “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”

“That’s stupid!”

“Forgive me if I can’t just run away and deflect everything like a baby! That’s your speciality!” Asharah snarled, she could feel the blood pumping in her face. She didn’t bother to hear what Sera began shouting at her after that. She slammed the door behind her and could hear something hard knock against it. That was the last time she’d seen her.

“Looks like my expert detective work was spot on,” Dorian said, breaking Asharah from the memory. Asharah pointedly looked away. “I can only imagine our Sera was nothing but tactful and respectful.”

“I’m not speaking to her,” Asharah bit her lip hard.

“How very adult of you both,” Dorian sighed. Asharah knew he was right, but it still irritated her.

She walked past him to the end of the aisle. “I’m going to study.”

“Fine, leave me to my fate,” Dorian sighed. Asharah almost instantly regretted bailing on the conversation because now she had to actually do some work. She walked past rows of tables already occupied with students reading or typing on their laptops. Closer to the middle of the room, though, she saw a familiar bald glint under the flourescent light. He was wearing what looked like pajamas, an old logo shirt and sweatpants. That almost made him fit in with the other sleep deprived students, but then there were the glasses. They were rounded in an almost comical shape. She didn’t even know he needed glasses. The overall impression made him look like he’d just confusedly shuffled in off the street. She didn’t quite know what to make of this man, who acted older than he should be yet unphased by society. Someone could easily mistake him for a misguided alumni.

“Hello, stranger,” she greeted, sliding into a chair across from Solas. He blinked, surprised. He had been totally enraptured with his work. It was then she noticed he was writing notes for something beside a rather thick textbook. She felt a bit guilty, “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” Solas said. He took off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face in exhaustion “But I could use a distraction.”

“Ah, good,” she smirked. Another way to avoid her own work. She looked over the text he was reading, even from upside down she could tell it was some sort of history. “What do you study anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

“You did not,” he admitted, but said nothing further.

“You’re going to have little luck pulling off the mysterious, dark stranger thing dressed like that,” Asharah stated dryly.

Solas chuckled, “It is a bit complicated. For now, let’s just say history.”

“I could have told you that,” Asharah looked at the book again and recognized the diagram of runes in the lower left corner. “A man of ancient elvhen, are you?”

He paused, “Yes,” his eyes met hers, “I’m impressed, you’re quite young to have knowledge of this.” His grey irises were as watery as she remembered, but there was an intense focus behind them. She met his gaze and felt as if she were in a spotlight.

“It’s part of my studies as well,” she smiled.

He glanced over at her stack of books, “You could have fooled me.”

She groaned, “Have to start with required courses. And Andrastian is always required… unfortunately. May I?” She gestured for the book and he obliged. Asharah turned it towards her and let her fingers trace over the words. She gleaned words such as ‘void’, ‘veil’, and ‘Andruil.’ She pondered a moment. “Are you studying the Forgotten ones?”

Solas blinked, “It is more like I am studying what people think of them.”

“That’s basically all historical texts,” Asharah responded. Solas hummed and nodded solemnly. There was a hardness in his expression as he looked at the book. “You disagree with the writer then,” she said.

Solas raised a brow, “Is my irritation so easy to read?”

“Like I said, terrible luck at this mystery thing,” Asharah pulled back a cover to get a look at the author’s name. Eleni Zinovia, a Tevinter name, but not a writer she was familiar with. “Oh joy, another Tevene academic projecting themselves on our culture.”

“What do you make of it?” Solas asked then.

She looked up at him in surprise, “Of this?” Solas nodded. She frowned and flipped the pages to where he had been reading. She started under the most recent headline.

_With what little evidence we have to these ‘Forgotten Ones’, we are left to speculation. The story of Andruil lets us know that they live in a place that is best translated as ‘the Void’. But it is hardly as simple as that, for she later fashions herself in armor made from this Void. So what is it? The story describes Andruil’s corruption as a plague of madness the longer she remains. It is not ridiculous, then, to make the connection to the Blight. The cult of The Empty Ones strengthens this connection by worshipping the Blight and the Forgotten Ones._

Asharah sniffed, “She certainly takes some liberties.”

“But she is a prominent voice,” Solas sighed, “Hard to ignore.”

“It must be nice to see the Blight as a fault of ancient elves rather than gluttonous magisters,” she muttered.

“Hm, I suspected the bias as well,” Solas mused, “Still….”

“Still?” Asharah leaned back to give him a good look.

Solas studied her before asking, “What do you think the Forgotten Ones were?”

She was at a loss for words at first. She had been trying to avoid some of her History work and had ended up in a debate anyway. Although, this was far more interesting than writing an essay on the different translation interpretations of the Chant. “I’m not sure,” she started, “There wasn’t a lot of material on it back at our reservation.”

“An educated guess then,” he waved his hand. He was eager for her answer. Perhaps he was just as starved as she was for a bit of elven intellectualism. Dorian was smart, yes, but he never held as much interest as she did in the elvhen. Few shem did. She was a little flattered that a man with such studious endeavours valued her input. She did not want to be his little pet project, though. She would test Solas, then, see if he could be her partner in stretching out these skills again.

Asharah considered the question and looked to the ceiling, the wheels beginning to creak into motion. “They appear to be opposites to the evanuris in every story, that’s the only consensus there seems to be. If they were such an antagonist to the likes of Elgar’nan, one would assume they were as powerful.”

“You think they were gods?” Solas interjected.

She twisted her lip, “No...I don’t think so. Otherwise, Fen’Harel wouldn’t be such an exception. They trusted him _despite_ his connection to them,” she thought hard for another moment, “Perhaps they were powerful mages opposing the evanuris’ authority.”

“An interesting theory,” Solas granted. His lips were curving slightly upward and he was stroking his chin, “You continue to surprise me.”

Asharah felt her face tingle at the compliment, but was confused, “Continue to?”

“You must be tired of discussing it, but it is rather unusual to see a bare-faced Dalish,” he said gently, knowing it was sensitive, “And I have a guess as to why, making it all the more intriguing.”

Of course he knew, if he was as learned in elvhen as he seemed he would have no doubt read Fen’Harel’s work. While it had hardly made a splash in shemlen news, it had rocked the historical society. An anonymous writer, claiming that the entire Evanuris had not been gods, just exceptional elvhen. That they were tyrants ruling over Arlathan with hordes of slaves, faces marred by their symbols of authority.

He was watching her. His eyes were not unkind, merely observing. She wondered what he thought about it, she’d never met anyone who had read the leak outside her clan. Even more, another elf.

“You look troubled, da’len,” he noted. The elvish made her feel more at ease, and she sensed he knew that. It comforted her, but she had to know.

“Do you believe what Fen’Harel said?” she asked quietly, her throat feeling dry already.

He raised a brow, “Is it best to discuss such sensitive matters here?”

“No,” Asharah gave a small laugh, “But it is a place for academia. And you got your turn to ask, you should return the favor, hahren.”

Solas smirked, “Ma nuvenin. Fen’Harel’s piece is compelling. People are dismissive because of the nature of its publishing.”

“But you aren’t,” she added.

“I am not,” he nodded, “And I can only guess you aren’t either.”

Asharah smiled sadly, she opened her mouth to say something, but what was there to say that her naked face wasn’t already saying? She’d hesitated. She had doubted. And she didn’t know if it was the right choice. She couldn’t answer Deshanna’s calls.

“You have such shame upon your shoulders,” Solas noted softly, “Is it really so terrible that you thought for yourself?”

There was an underlying bite to his question at her people. She pursed her lips, “I am their First. Who am I to doubt our ways? To stray from the path our people have bled for?” she’d thought these things so many times but never said them allowed, they flowed out of her, “I’m supposed to represent the future of our clan. Now they think I’m a traitor, or easily swayed. They have no confidence in me.”

Solas folded his hands in front of his mouth. He was staring at her intensely as she spoke. It was then she realized that she had just let slip she was technically an apostate. He didn’t seem like the type to care about that, but there was no certainty. If he took any issue with it, he didn’t show it. He leaned back in his chair. It was almost comical how highly he postured himself while dressed like a hobo. “You’re punishing yourself for daring to ask questions. You act with wisdom and yet you hold your head down.”

“I don’t feel wise,” Asharah shook her head, she could tell her face was flushing from emotions held muted in the quiet library, “I only know that I know nothing.” She smiled and the stupidity of that statement. She looked up at him, this hahren, who knew so much while living outside a clan. Who sought answers for the Forgotten Ones, a question no Dalish would ask. It wouldn’t be a stretch to guess he knew much more than her. Yet he was so calm. How can one who knows all that was lost, be without anger? Perhaps it was maturity. She felt foolish and young. A da’len. He was still watching her.

“I’m trying to learn, but it’s hard to let go,” she whispered, letting her eyes fall to the words of text. A Tevene twisting her culture for pomposity. That was only a taste of what would come if she pursued her goals. Would she burn up in fury?

“If it is any consolation, I admire your commitment. You have undertaken a path that is not easy,” he offered, his voice light.

Asharah shook her head and chuckled, looking at Solas out of the corner of her eyes. It felt odd to be talking about all these things she’d never had the opportunity to relieve. Solas engaged her in a way she hadn’t expected. And for all their back and forth, he didn’t look at her like a child. She felt oddly proud about that. “Well, I’m glad I could make a sloppy elven hobo appreciate me.”

He frowned at that, which made her laugh louder. She had to cover her mouth to not disturb the other students. This felt natural. When she’d first seen the bald flat-ear in her art class, this is not what she had anticipated. He was easy to talk to, engaging. And the baldness didn’t really bother her, it gave him character. Before she could mentally praise him more, he opened his mouth.

“I must admit. I didn’t expect this to come from a Dalish.”

Her smile fell, “Why?”

He noticed the change immediately. Solas closed his eyes and took a breath, “This is not the place-”

“No, it isn’t. But you can’t expect me to forget you think my people are dull,” she cut him off.

“I did not say that,” he clarified quietly.

“What would you say then?” she pushed. She squinted her eyes at him. The laughter from before had made her feel more relaxed, but now she could feel her stomach tighten and twist.

He stared at her, his brow furrowed. She thought that he might perhaps take his leave. He did not, “The Dalish don’t know half the history they cling to. They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.”

“ _Children_?” Asharah could not help but hiss the word. They weren’t speaking loudly, but the intensity of the conversation shift had attracted a few eyes. Asharah did not care, “How can you claim to be a man of Elvhen study and have no respect for the Dalish? They are the only ones trying to preserve what little we have left, and you insult them!”

“They insult themselves,” he wasn’t backing down, if anything Solas’ tone became firmer, “Or did you forget they nearly marked you as an ancient slave?”

Asharah stood so quickly her chair screeched across the floor. She wanted to slap him. Her breath was heated in her throat. If she ground her teeth anymore they would turn to dust. She was so angry that her head was spinning, unable to think of a proper retort. Oh, she wanted to slap him, but she thought of her sister and her people and how that would just make him think he was right. That all Dalish were savage children.

“You’re such an ass,” Asharah spat. She stomped away, trying to keep herself from running. It was only afterwards she realized she’d left her books behind. Whatever, Dorian could take care of that. She would make sure to not visit the library at that same time again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! My cousin's bridal shower was this weekend.
> 
> I know a lot of writers really like writing Solas, but I'm so intimidated by it! It's so hard for me to really know what he would be thinking in the moment, therefore, he doesn't say a lot, lol. I'll try and get better. And who knows, there might be a Solas POV chapter coming... ;)
> 
> I try to stay away from in-game dialogue, or at least only referencing it lightly. But no one can burn the Dalish quite like Solas.


	7. A Reflection in 500 Words or Less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asharah and Solas spend some time after their argument cooling off and talking to their confidants.

**Anders**

Anders often got told that he should sleep more. Unfortunately, that was not a choice for him. When he wasn’t getting his ass kicked by Pre-Nursing, or vehemently trying to ignore his roommate, he was busy being a prominent (and frankly outspoken) member of the campus’ Mage Alliance. He had lead at least half of the group’s major activities since arriving last Fall. And then of course there were his friends, he wasn’t about to be forgotten in the dust while Fenris ruined his dorm life. He didn’t get a monopoly on Hawke. Thus, his free time was precious, and it was understandable that he did not want to spend it hearing Solas complain.

“Solis?” the elf huffed, looking at the side of his java chip frap, “S-O-L-A-S. It is not difficult.”

“At least you’re not Andrews,” Anders muttered. The Shartan Civic Center, the location of their Mage Alliance meetings, was about seven blocks from the coffee shop. Which meant Anders would have to deal with Solas’ sour mood. Not to mention the time it would take them to get to the seventh floor. Anders took a generous sip of his Red Eye. He didn’t know why Solas was grumpy...well grump _ ier _ . He had been that way since this morning when they went to their shared class, History of the Dales. Solas was always a mouthy participant in class, but rather than being inquisitive and patient today, he was callous and accusatory. He nearly started hurling insults at their professor on whether the Second Blight started in either 1:5 D or 1:6 D. 

Solas scoffed as he pushed his free hand into his cords’ pocket, “It’s getting colder. There should be a bus route that comes through here. Do we not pay enough tuition for them to extend the University route?”

Anders couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Solas, you hate taking public transit.”

“It is a necessary evil in winter.”

Anders shook his head, he wasn’t going to argue without finishing his coffee. Solas peered at him, “I’m bothering you,” he said.

Anders shrugged, “A little. But I don’t exactly think it’s the weather or the coffee that’s making you so cross.”

Solas paused and frowned, as he often did when he was thinking. It was an endearing trait, cute even, if Anders was being honest. Too bad he only seemed to get a hard-on for being right. “Is it that obvious?”

Anders barked a laugh, “Most people would just write you off as a grumpy ass, Solas. But today, you are especially more grumpy and ass...ish.”

Solas sighed, “I suppose I have been distracted.”

“Oh dear, the elf with the laser-focus being distracted. Truly we all shall perish at this omen,” Anders smirked, “It’s fine, Solas, everyone has bad days. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed and all.”

“I never wake up like that,” Solas corrected. Anders snorted, what a ridiculous claim. Then, Solas said something even stranger, “I am distracted because I argued with Asharah Lavellan.”

He had expected an unpleasant call from one of his mysterious “associates,” or not being able to find a source for a quote, or even being called a knife ear by the particularly crude homeless man on the corner by the Stadium. Anders had not anticipated this.

“The...girl from the party?” Anders quirked a brow, Solas nodded curtly. “Why does everyone know this girl?” Anders muttered, “She has more of a social life than me.”

“That is not difficult to achieve,” Solas pointed out.

Anders frowned, “Well, what did you argue about? Oh, she’s Dalish right? I think Hawke told me. You probably said something rude.”

“Why would you assume that of me?” Solas asked bitterly.

Anders chuckled, “Because there’s a reason I haven’t introduced you to Merrill yet. It’s not difficult to discern your opinion on the Dalish after a couple conversations with you, Solas. And, to be frank, you’re not exactly the most tactful person.”

“She asked me my opinion,” Solas clarified.

“So you did say something rude.”

Solas took a deliberate sip of his frap.

Anders shook his head, “I don’t understand why that would bother you so much. You say rude things to me at least twice a day. Is it because I’m not pretty enough? That hurts my feelings, Solas.”

“It is such a waste,” he hissed, “It is so rare to find one of the Dalish so open to learning and yet she still clings to….” Solas slowed his steps. As with most of these times, Anders wasn’t sure if this was a dialogue, or if Solas was just talking to himself.

“To?”

“Pride,” Solas quietly finished.

Anders rolled his eyes, “What do you expect her to do, Solas? Agree with you instantly and say her entire people are foolish and ignorant and smell of dirt?” he paused a moment, “Please tell me you didn’t say that last one.”

“I did not.”

“Did you say something worse?”

“How do you expect me to gauge that?”

“Most people know what an insult sounds like.”

Solas thought for a moment, “Perhaps I was rather harsh.”

Anders feigned a gasp, “You? Perish the thought.”

“Ass,” Solas playfully chided, he hummed and said, “I fear I have a habit of judging people’s actions, when I have yet to act myself.”

“Oh and now here comes the unwarranted self-loathing,” Anders gulped the last of his coffee down and tossed the empty container in a nearby trash bin, “Save it for Lavellan, if she ever has the misfortune to cross your path again.”

The Civic Center loomed just a block or two away now. The autumn wind breezed through them. Despite the annoyed tone Solas had used earlier, Anders might actually agree with him about needing another route here. He folded his arms around himself, he’d hold off pulling out his winter laundry a bit longer. “I hope Morrigan wasn’t in charge of snacks.”

“You do not have to eat them.”

“I don’t have time to go get lunch before my lab.”

“I do not envy you, my friend.”

 

* * *

 

**Skyhold Dormitory, Room 903**

**Asharah**

Asharah stepped out of the steaming hot shower and started to roughly towel herself off. She was still buzzing with leftover energy from practice. The coach kept sticking her into defensive positions, but every so often she was sneaking in a move towards the middle of the field. This got her no love from most of her teammates. But she didn’t really care.

_ They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times. _

She started to furiously brush her teeth, leaving her gums sore. She stepped into Cassandra and her’s shared room and got dressed in her PJs. The steam began to billow out from the bathroom, as if her rage was leaving a trail. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. Whatever. What did it matter if there wasn’t a single elf on campus that sympathized with her? Fine. Just fine. What was the point in talking about it anyway, all it ever brought was trouble. No one understood.

“Are you planning on glaring at your chair all night?” Cassandra asked from her bed. Asharah noticed that, indeed, she had been lost in thought, and taking it out on her desk chair.

“Just thinking,” she said.

“Yes,” Cassandra murmured from over her laptop, “You’ve been thinking like that all day.”

Asharah only grunted in response. Maybe she should do some work so she didn’t have to think about it. She looked through her textbooks on her shelf. Introduction to Macroeconomics, Naked Statistics: Stripping the Dread from the Data, A History of the Chantry Vol. 1…

_ Or did you forget they nearly marked you as an ancient slave? _

Asharah’s knuckles were white on the back of her chair. Not History, not tonight. 

“Was it Sera this time?” Cassandra asked.

Asharah shook her head.

“I would hope you haven’t made another enemy on campus,” she teased.

“He’s nobody,” Asharah hissed, pulling out the economics book and flopping onto her bed.

“Of course he is.”

Asharah said nothing, avoiding her roommate’s eyes. She wasn’t going to talk about it again. She was tired of explaining only to get slapped in the face for it. From her own people. She didn’t think she could handle it from a shem.

Cassandra sighed, “You told me you trusted me.”

Fenedhis, guilt. Why were Andrastians always so good at that? She still hadn’t told Cassandra she was a mage. It didn’t feel good hiding things from her. Perhaps that’s why she always seemed to uncover them. And yet she was still holding back, afraid. Asharah sighed. She couldn’t hide everything, but she didn’t have to tell everything either. “I’m angry.”

“I was a good enough to detective to figure that out,” Cassandra said.

“No I’m...I’m always angry,” she started, and then said quietly, “At shems.” She swallowed and stared at the ceiling, memorizing all the splotches and patterns, “My people have lost so much and I know it was a long time ago, and that things are better now, but knowing that doesn’t help. It’s not fair that we have to scramble and scavenge things that should be ours by right. And just knowing what was lost is infuriating!” her voice strangled to not yell, “People keep telling me not to be a victim but I don’t have a choice, we don’t have a choice! We’ve lost things! We have so much to recover! I can’t just forget all of that!”

Asharah’s hands ground into her eyes and her face turned red but she couldn’t stop, “I wanted to come here so I could learn to help us, and what happens? Some asshole with a typewriter telling us that we were wrong all along, that we were slaves to our gods. But I can’t just...give up! Why does no one get it?! I refused to mark myself because...because I doubted and yes I fucking hate myself for that! But I can’t…” the tears were hot running down her cheeks. She didn’t know when Cassandra came over to her bed to place a hand on her shoulder. It stopped her and gave her a moment to sob through some breaths. “I’m angry,” she sighed, “and I’m tired.”

She felt so pathetic. She dared not take her hands from her eyes and face Cassandra. Not that she thought her roommate would ever be rid of her dignity. It was a long while before Cassandra spoke.

“Did I ever tell you how my brother died?”

Asharah had known about that, it had come out some time during the second week of classes when they were talking about families. Cassandra had elected to not expound upon it, and Asharah didn’t pry.

“Anthony was interested in dragons, he always had a way with animals, but it was dragons that fascinated him,” Cassandra started, her voice was the softest Asharah had ever heard, “He became quite well known for his studies and tracking. You know the zoo in Val Royeaux? The one that has the Highland Ravager? He was part of the expedition to save it from hunters.”

Asharah removed the hands from her face and saw that Cassandra was smiling at the ground. Her eyes full of pride.

“Some blood mages from Tevinter wanted his help with something, they needed a sample of dragon blood for some sort of ritual. He refsed,” Cassandra’s voice faltered, “They had him killed, just like that. We were walking around the streets and a mage just shot a lightning bolt through his heart right in front of me. I was twelve.”

Asharah didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth, but what comfort could she give for a hurt so old?

“I hated mages for that,” Cassandra stated simply and calmly. “I saw them as the Chantry does now, as living weapons only out for power. For a long time I ached for the chance to join the Templars to hunt down every last one of them.”

A sliver of cold fear pierced Asharah’s heart, but at the same time, her sympathy led more tears to run down her face. Cassandra was often annoyed at Dorian, but she was never hateful. Asharah had to wonder, when she looked at Dorian, did she see Anthony? Did she see a Tevinter mage with a history of cruelty in his veins, just as Asharah had? Would she see the same if she knew what Asharah was.

“I craved vengeance. There were nights that I thought the rage would choke me.” Cassandra ran a hand through Asharah’s hair, a rare thing for her to do, “I know this pales in comparison to the injustices done to your people. Even though I am Andrastian, I cannot pretend they have been perfect. I see why you are angry. Anger can be good, it can lead to action. It’s how I’m able to get Varric to get off his ass.”

Asharah smirked.

“And considering how much time you spend with me and Dorian, I think you’re finding it hard to hold us accountable.”

“Yeah, well, it’s much easier to hate you shems when you’re all in a big group mowing down the Emerald Knights.”

Cassandra snorted, “I am not always the best with words. I suppose...I just think that anger should push you forward, not hold you back. I’d hate to see it consume you.”

Asharah thought for a moment, “...Yeah.” There was a long silence, then the words just sort of fell out of her mouth, “I’m an apostate.”

Cassandra took in a deep breath slowly, and then let it out, “That is unsurprising.”

“Oh good to know that I’m terrible at keeping that secret. I’ll have the templars knocking on my door any day now,” Asharah groaned.

“I  _ do  _ live with you. I see how angry you get when mage rights come up,” Cassandra shrugged, “That means you’re a...First is it called?”

Asharah blinked, “Uh, yeah,” she was kind of surprised Cassandra knew the term.

Her roommate nodded, “If you set our dorm on fire I will make your life a living hell.”

Asharah giggled. A wave of exhaustion fell over her all of a sudden. All the emotions that had been surging throughout the conversation had wiped her out. She sighed, she would have to think about this, but for the time being she felt at ease.

“I appreciate your candor,” Cassandra noted.

Asharah grinned and rubbed her eyes, “Along with being angry, you’re quite good at making people feel guilty.”

Cassandra paused, “That can be useful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Anders being friends is a thing that needs to be in more fanfics.


	8. Bake Sale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Anders resort to selling baked goods for the campus' Mage Alliange's trip to Halamshiral. An unsuspecting Asharah gets involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Wrapping up this part of the Solavellan intro and then hopefully getting some more FenHawke in the next chapter.
> 
> I'm revealing a little of Solas' plan/deal this time but plan to keep it relatively hidden for some time. Hope you enjoy reading!

**Shartan Civic Center Lobby**

 

**Solas**

 

“We have to come up with a better strategy,” Solas said behind folded fingers as he leaned on their table, “At this pace, we’ll be heading to Halamshiral some time in the next age.”

“I do agree,” Anders side in his chair beside him, “This is quite droll, if not a little humiliating.” He peeked into the lockbox where their meager profits were held and frowned. “Hardly worth it,” he snapped it shut, “Also, next time, try not to make everyone else look bad.”

“Excuse me?”

Anders rolled his eyes, “Most people bring cookies, cupcakes, brownies. Who the hell brings tiramisu to a bake sale?”

It was true, his contribution to their fundraising effort did not fit in with the rest of the pastries assorted on their table. Nevertheless, he did not regret it. Tiramisu was a fine treat. It was not his problem if no one else appreciated it. He figured at the time that since he had access to a real kitchen, he should use it to its full capacity. And yet, his was the least popular product. More for him later then.

Their table was set up on the second floor of the Shartan Civic center, right after the large set of stairs. That way, people had to at least _see_ them no matter where they were going. Though that had not stopped many from ignoring them. Solas looked at his watch. It was a little after four, only another half-hour until their shift was done and they’d have to decide what to do with all the remaining pastries. He sighed, even being here for only two hours was a strain on his patience. The lack of success only exacerbated it.

It had been his idea to suggest this trip in the first place. Well, rather, he had guided it that way. The Mage Alliance had been yearning for a trip of their own for some time now. At first, the thought of travelling to Tevinter had been tossed around. Solas was quick to nip that one in the bud. A bunch of young mages travelling to Tevinter would only put even more suspicion upon them, especially when the Grand Enchanter herself was studying on campus. One word of it, and she’d be in the Dean’s office petitioning to disband the group effective immediately.

However, if they were planning to visit Orlais, how could she not appreciate them going to see her precious Chantry circle? Anders had agreed and set the plan in motion. Solas needed not mention the precious contacts he would meet with in Orlais. Even if it was only his first semester into his Master’s, he needed to start planning now if things were to be set in motion.

Solas felt a buzz in his pocket and he whipped his phone out, but it wasn’t Felassan. His news app’s notification banner was enough to make his skin crawl without even opening it: _“ANCIENT MAGIC IS JUST WAITING TO BE UNTAPPED” SAYS CORYPHEUS._ Anders hampered a peek at his phone before Solas could tilt it away.

“You look slightly crankier than normal,” Anders noted. “Isn’t it a _good_ thing that he’s trying to find some answers?”

Solas’ face betrayed nothing. “Yes, the public will surely be thrilled at the prospect of a noisy Tevinter magister bragging about holding the key to ancient power.”

“Who cares what they think?”

“You should,” Solas reprimanded gently, “Public perception is key to any major goal. That is, unless you are fond of pushing pastries on the unsuspecting.”

Anders rolled his eyes.

Solas put his phone away but his throat still tightened. To say it was a mistake to let him find the orb was a gross understatement. But what choice had he had at the time? Not that it would do any good to dwell on that now in front of Anders. He would need to investigate further at home. Find out what Corypheus was planning to do with the orb he hardly understood.

“Hey! Want to buy a cupcake? They’re only a silver piece!” Anders called out, breaking Solas from his thoughts. Solas was about to admonish him for yelling at customers when he saw a head of red hair turn towards them.

Asharah Lavellan was a possibility.

That was what he thought when he first saw her.

It had been logical at the time to write his rebellious truth on the Elvhenan under a pen name. Using Fen’Harel was just a clever bit of flourish. He hadn’t been able to properly explore his paper’s effects on the Dalish community, and when he least expected it, physical evidence sat right next to him. She was bright, inquisitive, competitive, and open to learn, if fiercely stubborn. Perhaps if she could be persuaded to acknowledge her people's’ faults, he would accomplish his goal quickly. But it wasn’t easy. Not for her, and he was a fool to have assumed as much.

Her hair was tied up and she wore gym shorts with a tank top. She was most likely heading to her lacrosse practice. In a hurry no doubt. Yet there she stood, looking at them both open-mouthed, searching for words. Solas did not let his expression show his appreciation for her toned legs. No need for _that_ to complicate things further.

He had wanted to talk to her, but he had planned out on meeting her outside their art classroom to settle things. This was not the most opportune moment. He could not facilitate in the middle of the Student Union, with tons of people walking by, his tiramisu on full display, and Anders giving him the side eye.

“Oh.” That was all she said. She gave a nervous smile and scratched the back of her head.

He might as well break the ice. “Hello, lethallin.”

The familiar term made her eyes snap to his. Her gaze was searching, trying to find his intent. An endeavour that many had already failed before her.

“Anders,” Solas turned to his friend, “Could you give us a moment.”

“Hey, whatever you can say to her, you can say in front of my cupcakes,” Anders sat back in his chair. Solas stared dryly. Anders sighed and stood. After giving an over-the-top bow, he walked over to the water fountain.

Asharah shuffled nervously. “Um, hi.”

Solas opened his mouth to say something and found the words wouldn’t come. Odd. Most of the time he found he had too much to say. How did one start something like this? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d apologized. Incidentally, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than three friends. There was a lump in his throat. She was younger than him, it shouldn’t be so embarrassing to say the things necessary. Yet, he couldn’t look at her.

“I don’t want to be rude, but I have practice,” she said, breaking his anxiety-filled train of thought.

“Ah, right. I just,” Solas swallowed. Now was the time, “I just wished to express my apologies.” He coughed. “It was rather impulsive of me to speak to you so rudely the other day.” She didn’t respond. Was she insulted? He risked a glance at her. To his surprise, she had a slight red tinge across her cheeks. He noted how it brought out the shine in her fiery hair.

She had a crooked smile and twirled a piece of her hair in her finger. “Right. Thank you. I suppose I’m sorry too, I lost my cool.”

“Please,” Solas held up a hand, but she shook her head and continued.

“I can’t pretend my people are perfect. I don’t know much about you, but I can tell you’re intelligent and deeply care about our,” she paused after that last word and then corrected herself, “the people’s history. I can only assume that your opinions on the Dalish were formed after some less than pleasant interactions with them.”

She looked up at him and her golden-amber eyes shone with sincerity. He’d noticed them that first day in class, he’d never seen such a color like them before. A mix of colors that were sadly almost never naturally together. But here she was, her eyes like the sun itself gazing at him. A warmth spread in his chest.

“And, if I’m being honest,” she dipped her head in shame, “I did think you a flat-ear when we first met. So I’m not as blameless as I’d like to think.”

Solas smiled. It felt only right to return her candor, “I made it quite clear the other day that I have my biases. Tragically clear, to be frank.”

Asharah gave a slight chuckle of relief. The smile reached the corner of her eyes. The sun crinkled. He was reminded yet again how young she was despite her capability. He had yet to discern if she was a unique case among the Dalish, or if he had misjudged them. Doubtful, but a possibility. It would do him no good to presume of her in the future.

“I hope this doesn’t end our conversations,” Asharah leaned forward a bit. “No one else here seems to care like I… we do.” She ended that sentence with a crooked smile that made Solas hear his heartbeat. “I want to learn, and as much money as this place has, something tells me you’re going to be a bigger source of mental exercise than my introductory professors.”

Solas chuckled, knowing Anders would no doubt warn her not to stroke his ego like that. “I think you might give me too much credit again. But yes, I would like to continue our talks.” It was one thing to find someone on campus that did not irritate Solas outright, and quite a miracle to find one whose company he enjoyed so thoroughly. He would not admit it aloud, but he had felt her irritation and absence more than he had anticipated. They’d only talked a handful of times after all. She was pulling him in with her gravity. A little curiosity was healthy after all.

Asharah pulled her bag up higher on her shoulder. Right, she was leaving, she had someplace to be. Solas felt a slight anxiety rush through him. Even though they would see each other in class, he didn’t want to wait. He felt like a child, but the words rushed out of his mouth. “Perhaps there is an opportunity to discuss things in a more interesting environment than a classroom.”

Her eyes glittered in interest. The amount of attention she was putting on him made his heart thump dangerously. He swallowed and pulled his phone out. “There’s an exhibit opening this weekend, at the Calenhad Museum.”

“The one with the old Emerald Knight art?” she finished, her voice rising in surprise.

He smiled at her excitement, “Yes.”

“But...you need tickets for that. And those sold out months ago.”

“I have my connections,” Solas smirked, unable to help feeling a bit prideful. He looked up at her and saw her blink. She was impressed. He felt foolish for being happy about that. “We can exchange numbers and discuss it later, so you won’t be late for your practice.” He offered his phone.

“Ah, of course,” she took his phone with her delicate fingers and entered her information.

It occurred to Solas then that one of his sensitive contacts could have messaged him just then and blown his cover. He inwardly smacked himself. He was acting rashly like a fool. She handed his phone back to him and waved with a smile. Before he could even say goodbye she rushed down the stairs with the crowd.

Solas looked down at his phone. Somehow, that exchange had not gone completely awry and he’d managed to get the girl’s number. Fenedhis, he was starting to sound like a frazzled teenager.

“You couldn’t at least seduce her into buying a cookie?” Anders question made him straighten his back.

He could feel the tips of his ears turn pink, something that had not happened for quite some time. “Don’t be foolish.”

Anders quirked a brow and smirked. “Foolish am I? Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers so much, I thought she was just a classmate.”

“I am not ruffled,” Solas chirped, sitting down and crossing his arms. Back to business. “She is a very intelligent young woman and we happen to enjoy each other’s company.”

“Of course, Professor Higgins,” Anders teased. Solas frowned and turned his head. “Oh, come on, I’m only teasing. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with having a little crush.”

Solas peered at him from the side of his eyes. There was definitely something wrong with that, but he dared not say that. “You are being ridiculous.”

“Yes, _I’m_ the one being ridiculous.”

It would have been wiser to just apologize and see her in class. He had been a fool to invite her to the exhibit opening. He hadn’t even been sure if he would go himself, too much of a risk being recognized. The Grand Enchantress would no doubt be in attendance, and the less time he spent in her presence the better. Besides, he did enough perusing and researching in his studies, one must have other hobbies in their spare time. Then he remembered the glint in Asharah’s eyes, and knew he’d be idiot enough to do it again.

It mattered not.

She was much younger, and no doubt pursuing interest in boys her age. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even have the chance to entertain these thoughts he had no business having. There were more pressing matters. They simply enjoyed each other’s company. There was no point reading any more into the blush on her cheeks that had given him a small sense of satisfaction.


	9. Conflict-Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera and Asharah bury the hatchet, with some help from a reluctant RA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized I had this chapter still on my drive. Technically this takes place prior to the previous chapter but they occur so close to each other it's not that big a deal. I know I said the next chapter would have some FenHawke but I mean it for realsies this time!

**Skyhold Dorm, Room 801**

 

**Cullen**

 

Cullen had tried to postpone this meeting for weeks. Every time Asharah had tried to stop him in the hallway to ask something, he suddenly had a very important Football practice at 9 PM. He didn’t mean to shirk his duties but, damn it all, how could he look her in the eye? It was already painful enough knowing why Dorian got a glint in his eye and smirked when he said hello. But she…. Maker’s breath he had been a fool. He should have left as soon as he’d seen her in Hawke’s basement. He should have gone to the Charger’s or maybe just home to sleep. Although, really, this whole thing started long before Hawke, it started back when he first saw her.

If he told anyone about this he’d never hear the end of it, not to mention it would just add a whole new layer of inappropriateness to his position. They’d remove him faster than he could say “co-ed.” He’d thought taking on a hall of freshman would be a tough, but rewarding job. He was two years older, and they were all practically children to him. Except her. It was more than just her face, although there were no complaints there, it was how she carried herself. She had a maturity and a passion about her that was so uncommon for a freshman stumbling into a new world. She knew why she was there, or at least, she was a good pretender. She was graceful.

And now she’d seen him practically naked.

Yet, he, too, was getting rather tired of having to call the janitor up to clean up after one of Sera’s “attacks,” so he’d finally agreed to mediate the situation. And thus, the two elven freshmen sat on his couch, pointedly perched on the different sides. He had pulled up a foldout chair for himself and was furiously recalling all the conflict-resolution training he’d been given in preparation for this kind of thing. Unfortunately, that training had not anticipated Sera.

“I ‘aint apologizing. She’s a bitch,” Sera stated frankly. Asharah merely rolled her eyes.

“Sera, we’re going to have to avoid using that kind of language if we’re going to come to an agreement,” Cullen sighed, “Let’s start simple. Why do you think Asharah is a...being unreasonable.”

“She started it!” Sera threw up her arms, “She’s got a stick up her arse about all her elfy-stuff and is all mad when I say it’s crap, even though she said so herself.”

“I did not say it was all crap, I said we’ve made some mistakes.”

“There’s that ‘we’ again, but what she really means is ‘us who touch ourselves to Arlathan.’”

“Okay!” Cullen cut in before the racial slurs started flying, “So what I’m sensing here is a lack of respect. Asharah, do you respect Sera’s feelings about your...elven culture.”

Asharah hesitated a moment and took in a deep breath, “I do. I don’t really mind if she doesn’t want to keep to the old ways, that’s not my problem.”

“Yeah?” Sera scoffed.

“You laughed at me when I told you why I didn’t have my vallaslin,” Asharah spat back.

Oh jeez, Cullen was not qualified to have this discussion. The guilt he had been holding back since Hawke’s party started to swell up. He remembered how he had accidentally outed Asharah. He couldn’t help but turn red with shame at the memory. And now he was supposed to be an impartial judge to a discussion of elven culture.

“It’s funny!” Sera grinned sideways. Asharah was not amused.

“It isn’t to me. It’s a decision I did not make lightly and...I’m still not sure I made the right choice,” her voice quieted. Cullen could feel his chest tighten as the pained expression flitted across her face. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible, even if it seemed Sera had found out on her own. Focus, he had to focus, this was about these two young women, not him.

He cleared his throat to get their attention, “Sera, is that fair to you?”

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m some baby,” she snapped back, before he could respond she looked back at Asharah and went off, “That’s what you think, too, innit? That’s what you said back then! You think I’m just some stupid idiot running her mouth?”

Cullen raised a brow, “What are you talking about?”

Asharah sighed, “You’re right, Sera, I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m sorry, I was upset but that doesn’t excuse things. However, to be fair, you are an idiot.”

Surprisingly, Sera snickered at that. Like a lightbulb suddenly turning on, she was able to flip emotions on a dime.

“Ass,” she giggled. Asharah didn’t seem surprised by that element at all, she actually smirked. Had she anticipated that.

“Good, that’s one apology,” Cullen said, looking to Sera intently.

The girl rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, sorry I said that stuff or whatever. If you’re into that stuff, can’t be all that bad.”

Cullen blinked, that had been...surprisingly easy.

“Great, now you can stop throwing fruit at my door,” Asharah smiled.

“I could start carving pricks on your door instead, yeah?”

“No, no you cannot,” Cullen cut in, “That would be a crime.”

Sera blew a raspberry but shrugged. The two girls stood up before he could say anything. “Thank you, Cullen,” Asharah said, looking him in the eye. Maker’s breath, she shouldn’t do that.

“No thanks necessary,” he coughed, “It’s my job after all. I’ll just be happy to keep the floor clean.” He stood and lead them to the door, opening it for them. Asharah gave a nod before leaving, but Sera hesitated.

She leaned in and whispered, “Oy, you might want to not make it so obvious you wanna’ shag her.”

Cullen’s mouth dropped open, he sputtered out a, “What?”

“Well, it’s not a packet of pencils in your pocket, innit?” she giggled and then skipped off down the hall, happy that her damage was done. Cullen looked down and immediately regretted wearing such loose pants. It really was only a matter of days until he was fired.

 


End file.
